


Hunting Moon

by pterawaters



Series: La Lune [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Established Relationship, M/M, Werewolf Biology, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:05:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4186146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a romantic summer together, it’s torture that Scott and Stiles have to spend their final year of college apart. When Scott's past comes back to haunt him, Stiles can feel it through their quickly-cemented mate bond, even though he’s 400 miles away. Stiles has to decide whether he’s willing to let others help Scott, or if he’s going to stay at school and finish his degree. Scott has to figure out how to deal with the strange killings happening around him, keep his mind on his schoolwork, and keep Stiles from ruining his future to be with Scott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunting Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written for the [Sciles Big Bang](http://scilesbigbang.tumblr.com/). Make sure to check out all the really awesome fics that have been written this year!
> 
> Artwork was done by [Werefoxes](http://werefoxes.tumblr.com/). You can find the art masterpost [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232616).
> 
> Hunting Moon takes place in the same verse as [La Lune Joindre](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3912622). You could read that one first, if you like. If not, all you need to know is that werewolves are known, Scott and Stiles are from two different packs in California, and that they got together at a werewolf retreat called La Lune.

“So,” Stiles’ dad says, heaving this sigh of great resignation, “am I going to see you at all this year, or am I going to have to wait until the wedding?”

Stiles laughs, pressing his phone between his ear and shoulder. “That’s a good one, Pops. Like you’re even invited to the wedding.” Stiles lays back on the guest bed in the McCall house in Beacon Hills. The room doesn’t smell much like Scott, but the bed does now that he and Stiles have been sleeping in it for the past three weeks.

Huffing, the Sheriff grumbles, “Well, if I’m not invited, I’m not paying for the damn thing. I already paid to send you to La Lune.”

“Dad,” Stiles grabs a balled-up sock and tosses it into the air, catching it when it lands. “Everyone pays into La Lune. It’s part of the werewolf dues. You were going to pay it whether or not I went.”

“Well, you did go, and you did find a mate, so money well spent.” Dad sounds grumbly and upset, but Stiles knows he’s not. He’s happy that his son found a mate at La Lune, even though it’s an unconventional one. “Looks like your cousin might be headed back next year.”

Stiles laughs, picturing how confident Jackson had been that _he’d_ be the one to find a mate this year, not Stiles. “That’s the greatest news I’ve ever heard,” Stiles says. “Maybe I’ll stop by and give you guys a visit before the semester starts.”

After a moment of silence, Dad asks, “You were planning on coming, weren’t you?”

Chuckling, Stiles confesses. “Scott’s semester starts a week before mine. It’s not like I’m going to stay here in Beacon Hills, doing _nothing_ without him.” Stiles throws the sock and catches it again. “Seriously, he’s the only thing to do in this town.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Dad groans like he’s in pain. “You could bond with your new pack. Get to know them a little better, without _distractions_.”

Stiles snorts. Scott has been _really_ distracting the last few weeks. “Gee, Dad. It’s almost like you’re trying to keep me away.”

“Well,” Dad says, his voice going sly. “I hear that Hale Alpha is pretty great.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles sits straight up, laughing loudly. “You’re _jealous_! You _miss_ me!”

Dad snorts. “Why would I miss you? Do you know how quiet town has been since you left?”

“Jackson getting on your nerves yet?” Stiles asks, totally hearing the lie in his dad’s heartbeat. “Didn’t I say you’d regret biting him?”

“He’s my late sister’s son, Stiles. Giving him the bite was always a given.” Dad’s been through this argument loads of times, so much so that he sounds like he’s memorized the speech.

Stiles thinks that at this point, he’s probably got it memorized, too.

“Look,” Dad says, and now he sounds like he’s about to tell the truth. “I’ve got this case. You can come hang out, but I’ll be working. You’ll only have your cousin for company.”

“You’re saying that like I don’t have any friends in Bakersfield, Dad,” Stiles says with a scoff, even though it’s pretty much true. The only people from high school that Stiles has kept in contact with are Jackson, Lydia, and through them, Danny. He used to hang out with this one guy, Greenberg, but since he went to school on the East Coast, Stiles hasn’t heard from him.

“You could always help Parrish clean out the storage room.” Dad says it like Stiles should be excited at the opportunity.

Stiles rolls his eyes instead. “Yeah, sure. Uh-huh. Anyway, I’ll be there on the third. For the love of god, buy some food for the house before I get there. I’m begging you.”

“Buy your own damn food.”

Laughing, Stiles replies, “Well, I had to give up my summer job early to go to La Lune, so unless you want me finding and eating all your secret stashes, I’d pony up, Dad o’ mine.”

Dad grumbles, but says, “Fine.”

By the time they’ve said their goodbyes, Scott is back in the room, returned from a trip with Derek to the gym. Stiles doesn’t even understand why they _go_ to the gym. They’re werewolves. Muscles come naturally. Hell, even _Stiles_ has muscles, and he avoids physical labor like the plague. (Of course, he loves a good, long run, especially near the full moon, but he’s not going to admit that, even under pain of death.)

“Hey,” Scott says, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips. Stiles catches Scott around the back of the neck and turns the kiss hotter, eager to get as much of Scott as he can, while he can. “Mmmph,” Scott says, trying to pull away.

“Nuh-uh,” Stiles murmurs against Scott’s lips, pulling him down onto the bed. “It’s been, like, three _hours_. I need to ravage you now.”

{image 1}

Scott laughs, which is a sound Stiles hopes he never takes for granted. He straddles Stiles’ hips and sits up, pressing against Stiles’ chest so his back stays down against the mattress. “We’re having dinner with the pack and _my mom_ , in half an hour.”

“So, we’ll be quick,” Stiles insists, pulling at the waistband of Scott’s jeans. “C’mon, it’s not like your mom’s gonna hear anything. She’s got _human_ hearing.” He grinds up against Scott’s ass, even though his dick is only now really starting to take interest.

“ _Human_ hearing,” Scott says, lifting up onto his hands and knees, which takes away Stiles’ friction. “She’s not _deaf_.” He raises an eyebrow at Stiles, his nose two inches from Stiles’ nose and his breath sweet against Stiles’ lips.

“I’m not that loud,” Stiles insists, pulling Scott into one last kiss before he relents and sets Scott free. “I’m not!”

Scott laughs again, shaking his head and gathering his things before he escapes the room.

Stiles sighs. He doubts anyone could blame him for spending as much time as possible with his mate, when his mate is Scott-freaking-McCall.

 

 

~*~

Scott escapes Stiles' grabby octopus arms long enough to jog down the stairs in search of his good dress pants. He finds his mother in the kitchen, already wearing her nice pearl necklace and her dark red dress. "Hey!" he says, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. "Dinner with the pack tonight."

Mom stands up and brushes off the shoulders of Scott's dress shirt, ignoring the fact that he's still wearing sweatpants. "Last family dinner before you go back to school." She sniffs a little, which makes Scott grin, because he knows she's doing it to be over-dramatic.

"You really think I'll get into med school for next year?" Scott asks, watching his mother’s face.

She nods decisively, her chin tilted up. “Of course. What medical school wouldn’t want a smart young person like yourself?”

“What if I only get into werewolf schools?” Scott asks, looking away from his mother. “What if I can’t get into the best schools because–” Scott lets out a breath he’d been holding. “It’s not a _disease_.”

Mom scrunches up one side of her face and says, “Technically?”

“I’m not even an alpha,” Scott complains. “There’d be no way for me to infect anyone.”

“I know, sweetie,” Mom says, patting Scott’s cheek. “I’m sure you’ll get into the best schools.” She gives him a wry look and rolls her eyes up toward the ceiling (and the bedrooms upstairs). “As long as you don’t get too distracted.”

“I won’t,” Scott promises with a smile. “Stiles and I are going to school six hours apart. He can’t be _that_ much of a distraction from six hours away.”

From upstairs, Scott hears, “I beg to differ!” but he tries not to let on to Mom that Stiles said anything. She’s been enough of a saint as it is, letting Stiles stay here for the last three weeks.

Mom scoffs, like she doesn’t believe Scott either. Fine, then. If they’re going to be ganging up on him, he might as well just finish getting dressed. He kisses his mother on the cheek again and says, “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

They all drive together to the Hale house, Mom driving them in her sensible sedan. It’s like she takes every opportunity she can get to prevent Scott from riding his motorcycle anywhere. To make Scott feel even more like a child, he’s riding in the back seat, while Stiles (the “guest”) gets to ride shotgun. Scott watches his mom and his mate talk excitedly about the song on the radio and Scott thinks he hasn’t felt this happy in his whole life.

He thought he’d been happy when he and Allison first fell in love. Scott hopes he’s not wrong about his relationship with Stiles being able to weather any storm. Scott feels like he’s known Stiles forever, like he can talk to Stiles about anything. Scott was a little worried about meeting Stiles’ dad, but they talked over Skype for a few minutes while Stiles was taking a bathroom break. Scott actually really likes Stiles’ dad. He kind of wishes he and Mom would have joined the Stilinski pack back when they left the McCalls.

Scott knows there was no good reason to join the Stilinski pack. The Stilinskis have a large extended family, while the Hale pack was down to three members when Scott joined. Now that he, Laura, and Derek all have mates, and assuming Stiles officially joins the Hale pack once graduation happens in the spring, the Hale pack will be back up to eleven members. It’s not a full pack, by any means, but it already feels a lot better than when Scott and his mother moved to Beacon Hills almost ten years previously.

Now, Talia Hale feels like a second mother to Scott, and Derek and Laura like the older siblings he never had. They pull into the Hale house driveway, and Scott smiles when he sees that Laura and Braeden are waiting for them on the porch. Laura has her dark hair up in a ponytail, which always reminds Scott of being ten years old and trying to braid her ponytail because he got bored watching the grown-up political show the rest of the family liked to watch. Laura grins and waves at them. Braeden rolls her eyes, clutches her hands around her mug, and goes back inside the house before they can even get out of the car.

As Scott climbs the stairs up to the porch, Stiles’ hand in his, he asks Laura, “What’s up?” He nods toward the door Braeden just went through.

“Family dinner night!” Laura says, blatantly ignoring Scott’s intent. Instead, she turns her attention to Stiles, holding her arms out. “How’s my favorite new packmate?”

Chuckling, his cheeks going adorably pink, Stiles accepts Laura’s hug. “Good,” he says, giving Scott a smile over Laura’s shoulder. “Great.”

They all know Stiles isn’t _officially_ part of the Hale pack yet, but everyone assumes it’s only a matter of time, even Stiles. Scott doesn’t want to assume yet. He wants this relationship to be older than a month long before Stiles makes that sort of commitment.

They’re not even college graduates. They’ve got time.

Laura welcomes Scott, and then Mom, with equally warm hugs, and then follows them into the house. Laura’s husband, Josh, is in the kitchen at the back of the house, arguing with Derek about how to properly stir some sauce or other. It sounds like Braeden is upstairs, probably in her and Derek’s room. Talia, the alpha, sits in the formal living room, in her ridiculous wingback chair that Scott swears she only keeps to intimidate people.

“Stiles,” Talia says, one eyebrow arching high onto her forehead as she stands. “Welcome into our home.”

“Thank you, Alpha,” Stiles says, using the correct words, though his tone is less formal than Scott would like. Of course, Stiles has met Talia several times in the past three weeks, so maybe he doesn’t need to be quite as formal as the first time. Still, Scott wants Stiles to make a good impression, because if Scott were to have to choose between his mate and his pack, it would tear him apart.

Then Stiles pulls a small package from his pocket, which Scott didn’t even know about. He hands it to Talia, saying, “Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

Talia smiles brightly, a sight Scott has only seen a handful of times, and takes the package. Scott watches, eyeing Stiles carefully in case this is some sort of prank. As much as Scott feels like he’s known Stiles forever, it really has been just over a month since they met (if you don’t count a two-hour play date when they were seven and their fathers were working on the same case). Scott worries that the gift isn’t a gift at all, but a joke.

When the package has been opened without any snakes or spiders jumping out of the box and Talia holds up a moon-shaped talisman on a chain, Scott sighs in relief. “Thank you, Stiles,” Talia says, rubbing her thumb over the front surface of the talisman. “Does it have any particular meaning?”

Getting a closer look, Scott thinks he recognizes the talisman as being like the one Stiles has on his car keys. Stiles shrugs and shakes his head. “No. I just thought you might like it.”

Scott thinks everyone in the room, except for Mom, must hear the lie in Stiles’ heartbeat. Neither Talia or Laura reacts, and Scott thinks either they’re being polite and letting Stiles lie, or neither of them knows Stiles’ heartbeat like Scott does.

Talia smiles again. “Thank you, Stiles.” She pulls him into a hug, and it doesn’t escape Scott’s notice when Talia rubs the corner of her jaw against Stiles’, marking him as part of her pack. He bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t do something stupid like gasp or tear up. Nothing’s official yet, of course, but Scott’s alpha approves of his mate. She accepts Stiles as part of the pack. Talia isn’t going to kill Scott as he feared she might when he came home with Stiles instead of someone more…

Well, someone female.

Scott looks back when he hears footsteps approaching from the hallway, and smiles when Derek sets his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Hey.”

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Derek says, nodding toward the room, where Laura’s investigating the talisman, and Stiles is pulling another surprise gift out of his other pants pocket. This one he gives to Scott’s mom with a flourish and a little bit of a bow. Derek snorts. “At least you found a charmer.”

Thinking about the way Braeden stormed upstairs without saying hello, Scott pokes Derek in the ribs and says, “Yeah, unlike you.”

Derek smirks, sliding his arm around Scott’s shoulders and pulling him into a hold that’s less like a hug and more like an almost-friendly headlock. “When my wife pulls your tongue out, I’m not even going to try to stop her.”

Wrinkling his nose, Scott asks, “Why would she do that? Braeden likes me!”

“I’m just saying, watch your tongue today.” Derek squeezes Scott once more and then leaves him to go say hello to Scott's mom and fawn over the earrings Stiles gave her.

Scott has no idea when Stiles managed to go shopping, because he and Stiles have spent almost every moment together for _weeks_ , but that doesn’t mean Scott doesn’t appreciate the effort. When the others head to the kitchen, where Josh is swearing to himself, Scott holds Stiles back for a moment.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Scott says, squeezing Stiles’ hand. “But it means a lot to me that you did.”

Stiles steps in closer, taking Scott’s other hand. He shrugs and leans in, whispering, “I got a present for you, too.”

“You did?” Scott asks, his face and neck growing warm with affection.

Before Scott realizes what he’s doing, Stiles presses both of Scott’s hands against Stiles’ crotch. “Right here.”

Face going even hotter with embarrassment, Scott pulls his hands back like he’s been burned. “Stiles!”

Covering his mouth with a closed fist, Stiles guffaws. When Scott starts to move around him to join the others in the kitchen, Stiles shakes his head, waving for Scott to stop. “No, wait. I’m sorry!”

Raising an eyebrow at the wide smile on Stiles’ face, Scott says, “You don’t look sorry. This is _my family_ , Stiles!”

Stiles tilts his head, smile still broad. “C’mon. You thought it was funny.”

Scott presses his lips together, trying to fight back against his own smile. He can’t help it. Stiles’ mirth is infectious, and now that the initial shock of embarrassment is starting to wear off, Scott can maybe start to see the humor. Scott sighs in resigned defeat, smile breaking out on his face. “They’re _right_ in the other room.”

Stiles approaches Scott again, this time with his hands up and visible, like he’s trying to prove he has no ulterior motives. “That’s what makes it funny.”

Never one to take a joke lying down, Scott shrugs a little before pulling Stiles in for a kiss. While Stiles is distracted, Scott makes his move, pressing one hand to Stiles’ cock and squeezing it through the fabric of his dress pants. As Scott makes his escape, leaving Stiles sitting in a cloud of his own aborted arousal, he snickers to himself.

As he passes through the kitchen on the way to the dining room, Laura’s husband, Josh, says, “Hey, Scott!” and hands him a dish. The dish hot enough that it scalds Scott’s palms a little, but he grins and bears it, because Josh looks flustered enough as it is. Besides, it’s not like Scott won’t heal.

He’s putting down the dish when Stiles comes into the dining room, red-cheeked and giving Scott a look that _has_ to mean he’s conceding this round, but Scott’s going to get his just desserts eventually.

There’s only two days left before they part ways for the semester, so Scott resigns himself to waiting for the other shoe to drop during that time. It’s fine. Stiles’ revenge plots so far have all meant asking Scott to do something Scott would have agreed to do anyway, like blowjobs.

Sitting down at the dinner table, across from Stiles rather than next to him at Laura’s insistence, Scott watches Stiles. Scott watches Stiles talk and laugh and smile across the table at Scott, and it makes Scott’s heart hurt. He doesn’t want to give this up, even if it’s just for one last school year. Scott thinks it might kill him, to be that far away from Stiles for that long.

Scott resolves himself to finding out how difficult it would be to transfer down to Irvine for his last semester. Stiles has said, again and again, that he’d rather help Scott keep the Hale pack numbers strong, than stay in the Stilinski pack for the rest of his life. That means that after this last year of college, Stiles will come live with Scott in Beacon Hills. Or wherever Scott gets into medical school. _If_ Scott gets into medical school. Eventually, though, they’ll live in Beacon Hills with the rest of Scott’s pack. Why shouldn’t Scott make a sacrifice for Stiles’ sake and move down to Irvine for a single semester?

Beside him, Scott’s mom nudges her shoulder against Scott’s. She says softly, “You look happy, sweetheart.”

“I am,” Scott tells her with a smile. As he returns to his meal, Scott notices Stiles watching him, probably because he heard what Mom said. Stiles returns Scott’s smile and nudges his foot against Scott’s.

Yeah, Scott should at least look into the possibility of moving.

While Scott is finishing up the last of his pot roast, wiping as much gravy from his plate as he can manage, Braeden stands up. He doesn’t think much of it until she doesn’t walk away from the table, just stands there and clears her throat. When all eyes are turned toward her, Braeden spares half a glance for Derek, who smiles and nods encouragingly, and then says, “I’m pregnant.”

Laura squeals and stands up, wrapping her arms around Braeden, who endures the hug more than reciprocates it. Mom laughs happily. Talia smiles, but doesn’t look surprised in the least. Josh looks like he might be thinking about another scoop of mashed potatoes. Derek’s proud smile falters when Stiles leans toward him and says, “Congratulations, stud,” before putting out his fist for a bump.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Mom says, grasping Scott’s arm and shaking it gently.

Scott forces a smile onto his face. “Yeah!” He turns his smile toward Braeden and Derek. “Congratulations, you guys!”

Scott wants to be happy for them, he really does. For Derek and Braeden both to get over their pasts and find enough happiness together to start a family is so important, both for them and for the pack as a whole. Unfortunately, it just reminds Scott that by picking Stiles as his mate, he can’t contribute to building pack numbers the way they can. It makes him feel like a failure compared to them, and Scott hates to fail.

On top of that, with a baby on the way, the pack is particularly vulnerable. Braeden will need her whole pack around her, not only for protection, but to help stabilize her emotionally to ensure the safety of the people around. Scott remembers when his cousin Maria was pregnant, how much more difficult she found it to find her anchor during the full moon. He remembers how many of his aunts, uncles, and cousins got injured, trying to contain her without hurting her or the baby.

Braeden and Derek are going to need Scott close by, not six hours away. They’re going to need Malia back from mid-state as well, maybe sooner than she and Isaac were planning. Scott thinks he heard Derek say something about a cross-country road trip they had planned, since neither of them are in school.

Scott and Stiles are clean up after dinner, while everyone fawns over Braeden (who’s looking more and more like she regrets saying anything if it means this treatment). As Stiles passes Scott a pan to dry, he asks, “Why the long face, babe?”

Scott’s heart skips a beat at the pet name – he’s still not used to them yet – and it takes him a moment to think about how he wants to respond. He watches Stiles’ fingers deftly wash the next plate in the pile and the way, when he stops, Stiles looks up at Scott through his lashes, expectant.

“I have to stay here,” Scott says, putting down the wet pan and leaning heavily against the counter. “I have to finish my last year at Davis.”

Nodding, Stiles says, “I know.” Stiles waits for more, but when Scott has nothing to give him, Stiles lets the plate slip into the soapy water and shakes most of the moisture from his hands before pulling Scott into a damp hug. “It’s gonna suck, I know. But it’s not even a year.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, burying his nose in Stiles’ neck and breathing in. Now that Talia scent-marked Stiles, he smells even more like he belongs to Scott.

“Just a couple of semesters.” Stiles croons, pressing a kiss against Scott’s clothed shoulder.

Nodding, Scott does the math in his head, before admitting, “I don’t think I can come spend time with your family during winter break.”

“Yeah, no,” Stiles says, rubbing his jaw against Scott’s, their mingling scents comforting Scott, probably like Stiles knew they would. “I get it. I’ll come here. It’ll be like summer break, part two. The Erection Strikes Back!” Stiles giggles.

Scott finds himself chuckling as well, even though he doesn’t quite understand the joke. For a full-blooded werewolf, Stiles knows an awful lot about human pop culture. Not that the two are that much different anymore, but Scott knows he tends to stick to werewolf-specific things sometimes, even when he shouldn’t. “What’s that from?” Scott asks.

Gasping, Stiles jumps away from Scott and points a finger at him. “You take that back right now!”

Scott can’t help but laugh. “We’ve got some time tomorrow. We could watch it? Read it? Then.”

Looking at least a little appeased, Stiles sniffs and says, “Watch it. And if we’re going to watch all six parts, it’ll have to be an all-day event.” He turns back to the sink and the dishes, finishing up the plate and handing it to Scott.

“No breaks?” Scott says, abandoning the plate on top of the wet pan and pressing himself against Stiles’ back. Stiles is tall enough that Scott has to stretch just a _little_ to put his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, but it’s worth it when Stiles shudders and presses back against Scott.

“ _One_ break,” Stiles concedes, turning his head to kiss Scott. “Maybe two.”

 

 

~*~

When Stiles loses his train of thought for the fifth time in a row, he shuts his laptop, leans back in his chair, and groans. "I'm never finishing this paper!"

Across the table Heather, his packmate-slash-study-buddy, gives Stiles an unimpressed look. "That paper's due in ten hours. Keep writing, Stilinski."

"I can't," he mutters, scrubbing one hand back through his hair. "I need to get up and move or something. Run."

"You said you'd buy me froyo if I got you to finish your paper," Heather says with a smile. "If you think I'm giving up that easily, there's something wrong with you."

Stiles crosses his arms on the library table and lets his head fall down onto them. "This sucks. My mate is four hundred miles away and the distance is doing things to my brain."

Looking at her notebook as she writes something down and then crosses it out, Heather says, "I'd help by offering to sleep with you again if I thought you'd accept."

"Yeah, that's real great, Heather," Stiles says with a scoff. "I go and get myself a mate and suddenly I'm all interesting again!"

"You're not interesting," Heather insists, taking the cap off a highlighter with her teeth. "I thought we established that in high school."

Stiles gives her a fake laugh, but opens his computer and gets back to work. Once upon a time, when they were young and stupid, Heather decided she and Stiles were going to figure out the whole sex thing. They did, only Stiles had still been completely in love with Lydia Martin. Heather and Stiles' relationship quickly turned back into friends-without-benefits, and everyone is happier that way.

Stiles tries his best to shut out the portion of his brain that's dedicated to Scott; it doesn't go well. Scott's this shining-bright beacon in Stiles' mind. They bonded so quickly and so thoroughly, that Stiles gets wafts of Scott's emotions, even hundreds of miles away. Stiles hasn't asked Scott if the bond is reciprocal, mostly because he feels it slipping every hour he's away from Scott.

After he's finished a rough draft of his paper, Stiles and Heather pack up their things and walk across campus to the frozen yogurt place. It sits on a street lined with little restaurants all supported by the university populace, but not actually part of the university. "Just try to go easy," Stiles tells Heather as she's eyeing up the different sizes. "It's not like I'm made out of money."

Heather scoffs. "I know the sheriff sends you money every month. My mom's the one who helped him set up the automatic transfer."

Stiles scowls, but he's not surprised. Laine Schuessler and her husband Terry joined the Stilinski pack before either Stiles or Heather was born. Laine was best friends with Stiles' mother, Claudia. Stiles is pretty sure that back then, the Sheriff wasn't even alpha. Stiles wishes he knew more, but Dad doesn't like talking about how he became alpha, and none of Stiles' actual aunts and uncles, much less Heather's parents, will tell Stiles what happened.

It's this puzzle that eats at Stiles sometimes, and the only thing keeping him from finding out the answer is this unusual respect for his alpha's wishes. It lets Stiles tell himself he'll look it up later, when he really needs to know.

As they're eating froyo, walking back toward campus, Heather says, "Oh, hey. Remember my cousin Nicole? From the Smith pack up by San Jose?"

"Vaguely," Stiles replies, giving Heather a suspicious look. He hopes this isn't going to turn into another one of her attempts to set him up with someone all wrong for him. After all, Stiles has a mate now. He's done looking around.

"They said something weird has been going on up north. Some FBSI guy came to talk to their alpha."

The Federal Bureau of Supernatural Investigation is in charge of all sorts of werewolf-related crimes, but something tells Stiles this investigation is unusual. Stiles gives Heather a look, trying to find out if she’s holding out on him on purpose. “About what?” he asks when it looks like Heather has more to say.

“There’ve been some attacks,” she replies, taking a long lick from the froyo on her spoon.

Stiles sticks his own spoon deep into his froyo, so it will stay there while he talks. “Attacks? Like werewolf-on-human?”

Heather nods, her eyes appropriately wide, yet inappropriately excited.

Stiles, on the other hand, is horrified. “Why isn’t the alpha taking care of it? Humans are scared enough of us as it is!”

A passing student gives Stiles a suspicious look, like everyone on campus hasn’t already been given Stiles’ picture, along with pictures of all the other werewolves at Irvine. Stiles insists it’s humiliating, but there are laws and Stiles has to submit to them, just as surely as he has to submit to his alpha.

Once the student passes them, Heather replies, “They can’t figure out who’s doing it, or how some off-the-rails omega has been able to give them the slip for so long.”

“How long has it been going on?” Stiles asks, remembering his dad saying something about a case that had been eating up all his time.

Heather shrugs. “At least six months. All over Northern California.”

Stiles shivers. He’s been told stories about what omegas are capable of since he was born. “Fuck my ancestors,” Stiles swears. “Scott’s up there.”

“It hasn’t hurt any werewolves,” Heather replies, giving Stiles a pat on the shoulder, like that will make him feel better.

“Scott’s pack – my new pack – is up there,” Stiles adds, giving Heather a long look. “You’re not the one moving there after this school year is over.”

“I might go out east,” Heather says, which is news to Stiles. After he gives her a questioning look, Heather tells him, “I’ve been looking at grad school.”

“Public policy?” Stiles asks. When Heather nods, he tells her, “You know, Derek Hale has a branch of the WRO up in Beacon Hills. I bet I could get you a job.”

She gives Stiles a thoughtful look for a moment before scoffing. “Like I want to be in a pack with you forever.”

Guilt drops heavy in Stiles’ stomach, so he decides the best thing to do would be to spread it around. “I think Dad was hoping you’d stay with him. You know, since I’m leaving to be with my mate.”

“I’d come back,” Heather says, though she sounds about as unsure about that as she ever has about anything else. She frowns at the reaction face Stiles must be giving her. “I _would_. I mean, I’d probably end up in Sacramento every day but the full moon. I could commute.”

“It’d be easier to commute to Beacon Hills from Sacramento than to Bakersfield,” Stiles tells her. He puts his arm around Heather’s shoulders and says, “Look. All I’m saying is maybe you could think about sticking around. I’d hate to lose you to some snobby pack on the East Coast.”

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” Heather says, but she leans against Stiles, putting her head on his shoulder while they walk. When Heather steals a giant spoonful of Stiles’ frozen yogurt, he lets go of her so he can quickly down the rest.

Stiles wishes Scott was with them. He’s accidentally just eaten an entire cupful of Scott’s favorite froyo flavor, and it sucks because they could’ve shared.

 

 

~*~

Scott is grateful for his double major in both human and werewolf physiology, because the heavy workload keeps him busy enough that he barely has time to think. There’s hardly any time to actively miss Stiles, so there’s been little reason to fall into a depressive funk over the fact that Stiles is _hours_ away, and it’s been almost two months since Scott last saw him in person.

They talk most days, and Skype several times a week, but it’s not the same as being able to touch and smell Stiles whenever he wants. They only got that privilege for a month before the school year came rolling back in and life intruded.

As Scott leaves his evening lab, he sees that Stiles has left him a text about WIW’s updated album release date, and tentative plans to go to a concert together when they start touring in the spring. He’s typing out his “yes of course” reply, when his ears pick up on something wrong. Scott can’t quite pinpoint it, but he knows he hears something _wrong_.

When the smell of fresh blood hits his nose, Scott almost drops his phone. He shoves it into his pocket without locking it and takes a few steps before he realizes he’s going the wrong direction. He turns and follows the scent, finally understanding that the sound he hears is someone trying to breathe with a sucking wound in their lung.

He finds the person – and it is a human – in the bushes beside the History building. He looks like he’s probably a student, though his face is a mess of claw marks, so it’s hard to tell if his face matches the way he’s dressed. His eyes open when Scott kneels down next to him, going wide as if he’s afraid of Scott.

“It’s okay,” Scott insists quickly, pulling off his outer shirt so he can use it to stop the bleeding. “I’m going to help you.” Louder, Scott calls out, “Help! Someone help! We need an ambulance!”

No one comes at first, so Scott tries to pinpoint the worst of the injuries. He notices that the man has been stabbed in the ribs, four puncture wounds running up his side, each of them sucking air as the man struggles to breathe. They’re claw puncture wounds, he just knows it. However, Scott doesn’t know how to treat this kind of wound. He’s not even in medical school yet. All he knows is first aid and a little bit about the stories his mom has told him.

The only thing Scott can think of is to stick his own fingers into the wounds to seal them off. Then he should be able to breathe, right?

“Sorry, man,” Scott says, right before he winces and sticks his fingers in. He tries to draw away as much pain as he can without passing out, and calls out again. “Help! Someone!”

Scott hears a few feet moving, but they’re getting farther away, not closer.

“Shit.”

The man takes a deep breath, and while he still struggles, he doesn’t seem like he’s drowning anymore. With his free hand, Scott digs around in his pocket and pulls out his phone. Emergency services connects almost right away, and in a frantic daze, Scott explains what’s happened. The man gasps, and Scott tells the dispatcher, “He’s not breathing very well, and he’s losing a lot of blood. I mean, I’m taking away his pain, but he’s still–”

“You’re a werewolf?” the dispatcher asks, voice suddenly harder and less sympathetic. Scott hates it when people get like this.

Still, he knows he can’t lie. Not in a life-and-death situation like this. “Yeah,” he says, half listening for her response, and half listening to the man’s heartbeats get further and further apart. “He’s lost consciousness. Should I try to wake him up?”

“Are you in contact with any of his bodily fluids?”

Scott just manages not to roll his eyes. “I’ve got my fingers plugging up the worst of his wounds,” Scott tells her. “His lung might be collapsed. That’s what happens, right?”

“Sir,” the dispatcher says, her voice intensely serious, “I need you to step away from that man right now.”

“Why?” Scott asks, pressing the phone between his shoulder and his ear and using his free hand to press his shirt underneath his other hand, trying to stem the flow of blood.

Voice still calm, the dispatcher says, “Because you might infect him.”

Scott audibly scoffs and keeps doing what he’s doing. “I’m not an alpha. I _can’t_ infect him. Besides,” Scott knows this is trouble to say, but it doesn’t stop him from saying it, “if I could infect him, it would probably save his life.”

The dispatcher gasps, and then says, “Sir. Do not intentionally infect a non-consenting person!”

“I’m _not_!” Scott cries, listening as the man’s heartbeat slows even further. “He’s dying! Is someone coming?”

“Y-yeah. Yes,” she replies with a shaky sigh. “You should be able to hear the sirens any second.”

Scott sighs as well. “I don’t think he’s breathing anymore. Should I start CPR?”

“Do you know how?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, clambering over the man so he can get a better angle at his mouth. “I took a class during high school.” Before he leans down over the man to push a breath into his lungs, Scott hears sirens approaching. He only gets a few minutes of compressions in before the paramedics take over and shoo Scott out of the way.

Scott has blood all over the hands. As a werewolf, he’s used to a certain amount of blood. After all, pack hunts are a tradition, and a good way to keep the deer population down, when all of the actual wolves have been driven out of the ecosystem by deforestation. This feels nothing like being elbow-deep in a deer carcass. It doesn’t even feel like being bloody after a practice fight with Derek. This is _human_ blood. Scott has been brought up knowing that to spill human blood is to incur a death sentence.

A police officer pulls Scott to one side of the scene, over near one of the benches lining the walkway between the buildings. “What’s your name, son?”

Scott answers all of the police officer’s questions as best he can while looking down at his blood-soaked hands. He comes up short when the police officer says, “The paramedics couldn’t help but notice you had your hand _in_ the victim. Son, did you do this? Lose control, or–”

“I could never!” Scott cries, just barely holding back his power from showing through the flash of his eyes. Through clenched teeth, Scott says, “I found him like that. I did everything I could to save him.”

“Uh-huh,” the police officer says, writing this down in his notebook. Scott wants to shake him until he makes it clear that he understand Scott didn’t hurt anyone. Somehow he doubts that would help anything. “Just sit right here, son. Someone else will be with you soon.”

Scott’s pretty sure he’s waiting for another police officer, but the person who approaches next is wearing a suit, and has a colleague wearing some sort of paper jumpsuit. The woman in the suit flashes a very familiar badge at Scott. “Special Agent Crawford, FBSI. Scott McCall?”

Scott nods, flinching when the man in the paper suit takes one of Scott’s hands and starts scraping blood flecks off into a plastic bag.

The agent continues. “Any relation to Agent McCall, from the Los Angeles field office?”

Of course she knows him. Scott sighs. “He’s my father.”

“Right,” she says, giving Scott a smile that’s friendlier than any of the looks he’s gotten since the paramedics first got there. “I’m sure you appreciate that we have to follow a certain procedure.” She nods to the man collecting evidence.

“I didn’t do anything,” Scott tells her, wishing they’d sent one of the werewolf agents, who would be able to tell he was telling the truth. “I was just trying to help.”

The agent smiles at Scott, patting his shoulder. “I’m sure that’s exactly what happened. Let’s just put our trust in the procedure, and make sure you don’t leave town.”

Scott’s eyes go wide. He wants to tell her that his pack is an hour away, in Beacon Hills, but he’s not sure she’ll understand the implication. Scott _has_ to be allowed to go to his pack when either he needs them or they need him. It’s one of the few ways he can get an excused absence from class. If he’s not allowed to go to them, his bonds to the pack could end up slipping, and he could become an omega.

By trying to eliminate Scott as the kind of werewolf who would attack a human like this, they might just turn him into just that kind of werewolf.

As soon as the technician gives Scott a bundle of wet-wipes so he can clean off his hands, Scott picks up his phone again and calls his alpha. It’s almost nine o’clock at night, but she answers almost instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to come,” Scott says, his planned speech about what had happened falling by the wayside as soon as he hears his alpha’s voice. “Talia, I–”

Talia cuts him off, her voice decisive. “I’ll be in the car in five minutes. You’re at your apartment?”

“On campus right now,” Scott says, wiping a tear from under his left eye. “If I won’t be home by then, I’ll let you know. And, Alpha?”

“Yes?” Talia asks. It sounds like she’s packing a bag.

“You might need Derek’s WRO contacts,” Scott tells her, watching Agent Crawford direct police around the crime scene. “This looks like it could be ugly.”

Talia sighs, her breath making the phone connection hiss. “Okay. Just stay put. I’ll be there soon.”

Scott hangs up and puts his head in his hands. What has he gotten himself into? What is he going to tell Stiles? What is he going to tell _his mom_?

 

 

~*~

"Oh my god," Stiles breathes out after Scott tells him what's happening up in Davis. "Oh my god! Don't they know you could never hurt a fly?"

Scott snorts, but his heartbeat slows down a little, so Scott must be at least a little relieved. "You wanna be my character witness?"

"Sure," Stiles replies, distracted by the sound of a siren in the background of Scott's call. He shakes off the distraction and asks, "Do you want me to come? I could come."

"Don't," Scott insists, the siren behind him dying down. "You have a test tomorrow, don't you?"

Stiles sighs, because Scott is right. "Yeah. And another one on Friday." Doing the math quickly in his head, he says, “They only count for like, a quarter of my grade. Each.”p> “Don’t even think about it, Stiles,” Scott says, his voice this mixture of concerned, playful, and authoritative that sends a thrill down Stiles’ spine.

“Ooh,” Stiles says, getting up and closing his bedroom door, just in case his roommate walks by. “Say it again, but slower.”

“ _Stiles_!” Scott cries. “I just watched a guy bleed out. He might be dead! I still have his blood on my hands!”

Stiles feels a little ashamed of himself, but mostly he’s picturing Scott with blood on his hands. Maybe a little around his mouth, like they just took down a deer together. The fact that it’s human blood does put a damper on things, and helps keep Stiles from saying something that would probably make Scott break up with him.

Clearing his throat, Stiles says, “No, you’re right. Sorry. I’m just– Sorry.”

“Talia’s almost here,” Scott says, a lot of fabric rustling going on at his end, like Scott’s standing up and moving somewhere. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles wants to keep Scott on the line as long as possible, but he knows Scott has a fuck ton to deal with right now and doesn’t need to worry about Stiles’ insane demands for attention. “Bye, Scotty.”

“Bye,” Scott says, just before hanging up.

Stiles frowns at his phone, not sure he’s going to be able to sleep while he’s worrying about what Scott’s going through. Who knows what’s going to happen. Heather said there’d been a couple of attacks. What if they never catch the omega responsible? What if they think _Scott_ did all of them?

Shit.

Mind racing around in circles, thinking about what he could possibly do from hundreds of miles away, Stiles checks the clock. It’s just past nine. His dad’s probably still up, if not on duty. Stiles calls up his dad and lays back down on his bed, looking up at the WiW poster he’s tacked to the ceiling.

It takes a few rings, but eventually the sheriff answers, “Yeah? Stiles?”

Stiles says hello and apologizes for the late call, before explaining the situation and his fears over what might happen to Scott now. “I mean, he had his fingers in the guy’s chest wounds, Dad. He was just trying to help, but…”

“I get the picture,” Dad replies with a sigh. “You said his Alpha is a lawyer?”

“She’s more of a politician,” Stiles says, thinking about how he’s not sure of Talia’s job, but he’s fairly certain she’s the mayor of Beacon Hills. No one had really brought it up while he was staying in Beacon Hills, and frankly, Stiles has been too busy to look it up. Maybe he will now. “Scott said she’d take care of it.”

“I’m sure she will.” Dad sounds encouraging, but tired, like maybe he’s been taking on too much again.

Stiles doesn’t want to add to the Sheriff’s workload. The ancestors know he’s got enough to deal with, being Kern County sheriff, as well as alpha to a pack of eighteen werewolves. Seventeen, now that Stiles has all but joined another pack.

“Maybe I should go up there,” Stiles says instead, knowing that he’s made a mistake the second after the words have left his mouth.

Dad’s voice could probably be heard the 150 miles from Bakersfield to Irvine without the phone connection when he cries, “Stiles! Don’t you dare sacrifice you education for _a mate_!”

“ _A mate_ ,” Stiles scoffs, like mates are just a dime a dozen. “ _The_ mate, Dad. Scott’s it for me.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just leave school in the middle of the semester.” Dad gives another sigh and is quiet for a moment. Plotting, if Stiles isn’t mistaken. Dad takes a sharp breath and says, “If it’ll keep you in school, _I’ll_ go up there and sort this mess out.”

“Don’t do that,” Stiles replies, though his response isn’t as vehement as it had been before. “Dad.”

The Sheriff, starts scribbling something on a paper, and Stiles hopes he hasn’t just unleashed a monster on Scott. “I’m going to Davis, Stiles. I’ve still got some FBSI friends in the San Francisco office. I’ll see what they can do for us.”

“Dad,” Stiles tries to convey with the tone of his voice how bad he thinks this idea is. “You have the county, the pack!”

“Parrish can handle the day-to-day stuff at the office,” Dad replies. “My cousin Tina makes a great interim Alpha. Plus,” the Sheriff chuckles, “I wanna meet this new Alpha of yours. In person. Make sure she’ll treat my son right.”

“Oh, my god.” Stiles feels his face heat up, even though there’s no one else in his room. “Dad! You’re such an embarrassment!”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway, don’t you, son?” Dad’s got that voice on that means he’s smiling. Stiles hates that voice sometimes. Usually whenever it gets used, Dad’s about to do something he thinks will be funny, at Stiles’ expense.

“Fine,” Stiles replies with a grumble, not wanting to make it any worse. “Try to make a good impression on Talia, okay?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Talk to you soon.”

“Yeah, Dad, but–“ Stiles sighs when it becomes apparent that he’s been hung up on. Just great.

 

 

~*~

Scott manages to make it back to his apartment building right before Talia drives up. She parks her car in a spot that Scott’s fairly sure is illegal, gets out of the car, and stalks over to Scott. She takes Scott’s hands in her own, asking, “Are you alright? Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

Shaking his head, Scott says, “No. I’m okay.”

Talia pulls Scott into a hug, and Scott has to admit, it’s grounding, being near his alpha again. “Thank the ancestors,” she says softly, pulling back and straightening the sides of Scott’s jacket. She’s a tall woman, almost as tall as Scott, and sometimes she feels like the biggest person in the room. Right now she feels smaller than Scott knows she is. Tired or something. “You smell even more troubled than you sounded over the phone.”

Scott knows it’s pointless to try to hide his emotions from his alpha. She’s better at picking out his scents and moods than anyone, except maybe Stiles at this point. He shrugs. “They haven’t told me what happened to the man. I don’t know how he’s doing.”

Eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, Talia tilts her head as she looks at Scott. “Come on. Let’s get you tucked into bed. We can worry about that in the morning.”

Scott lets the both of them into his apartment, turning on the lights. It’s a little studio apartment, really all he can afford with the money he gets from working in the animal lab part time, and from his mom, (and from Talia). There are only two places to sit, the bed or the chair by the window. Scott sits on the bed. “I tried to help him,” Scott insists, as Talia sits next to him on the bed and pulls him into another hug. “I really did.”

“I know you did, Scott,” Talia replies, turning Scott by the chin so he’ll look into her eyes. “And I’m proud of you.” Her eyes flash red with authority. It works. Scott doesn’t feel one hundred percent okay, but he feels a lot better than he did. “You get some rest. I’m going to check into a hotel.”

Scott looks around at his apartment and its one bed and one chair. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

After a night full of restless sleep, during which Scott dreams of blood, Scott wakes up to knocking on his door. The clock says it’s late – he’s already missed his morning lecture – and somehow he’s managed to sleep in. Scott doesn't think to check through the peephole who's at the door, when he can tell it's his alpha. That's why he's surprised when there's someone else with Talia – a pretty, young woman. Scott's cheeks go red as he realizes he's still wearing his pajamas. "Uh, hi."

"Good morning," Talia says with a sharp smile. As she passes Scott to enter the apartment, she traces her palm against Scott's cheek and under his chin, subtly adding her scent to his. It's a standard greeting between alpha and beta, but today it makes Scott feel safe, rather than amused or annoyed. "Scott, this is Kira Yukimura. Kira, Scott McCall."

Confused by this woman's presence, Scott hesitates to take her hand when she offers it, but he decides to err on the side of not offending her. As subtly as he can while shaking Kira’s hand, Scott inhales, trying to get a scent off the woman. Talia gives Scott a chiding look, but the scent Scott gets seems human. Still, there’s something about Kira that makes Scott confused. Maybe it’s because she’s got a pretty smile, and Scott is still getting used to the fact that his mate is another man. “Um. Hi.”

“Hello.” Kira’s smile also makes Scott aware of the fact that he’s still in his pajamas. He tries to control his reaction to the embarrassment, to focus on his anchor so he doesn’t blush, but it’s no use. Kira’s eyes linger on Scott’s heat-reddened cheeks, and Talia gives him a sympathetic smile.

“We’re here about what happened last night,” Talia says, gesturing for Scott to give them some room and let them into the room at large.

Scott thinks that’s a given, seeing as Talia lives an hour away, and wouldn’t be here in Davis if it weren’t for what happened the night before. Nodding at Kira, Scott asks, “Do you know him? The man?”

Kira’s brow furrows and she gives Talia a confused look before turning back to Scott. “No. Ms. Hale has contracted me as your defense attorney.”

“A lawyer?” Scott thinks Kira looks way too young to be a lawyer, even wearing a suit not dissimilar to Talia’s. Kira’s youthful face makes her look more like a college student. Maybe she isn’t an _actual_ lawyer. Maybe she’s pre-law. Turning to Talia, who’s pouring a glass of water at Scott’s tiny sink, Scott asks, “You really think I need a lawyer?”

Kira steps closer to Scott, saying in an adorable rush, “It’s only for your protection. To make sure the police don’t trick you into helping their case against you.”

“There’s a case against me,” Scott says with a resigned sigh. Things looked like they’d been headed that way the night before, but in the back of his head, Scott had been holding out hope that they’d just believe that Scott was only trying to help. “How is the man? Ancestors, I don’t even know his name.”

“John Doe, at this point,” Kira says, her voice much more professional than it had started out. “The deceased didn’t have any identification on him, and the injuries to his face are making it difficult to match him to any of the missing persons reported.

Scott feels like his own heart has stopped. “ _Deceased_?” Praying it’s not true, Scott looks to Talia, who nods gravely. “Oh, my god.”

Eyes wide, Kira stutters again. “Y-you didn’t know?”

Scott sinks down onto his bed, resting his elbows on his knees. He shakes his head. “No. I thought maybe I’d been able to…” Scott sighs.

“Yeah,” Kira says sadly, she hesitates, but with Talia’s nod of permission, sits down next to Scott. “In light of this new development, the police want to question you again today.”

“I have class,” Scott says weakly, but he knows this has to take precedence over the lectures he’s supposed to attend.

Kira gives Scott a not-to-be-argued with look that, frankly, he wouldn’t have thought her capable of until this very moment. “You need to go. First, though, we need to prepare you for how to answer their questions.”

“I can’t just answer them?” Scott asks, thinking about what the heck he’s supposed to wear when he goes to get questioned about a man’s death. Pajamas aren’t right, but a suit seems too formal somehow.

Shaking her head, Kira stands up. She turns to face Scott and says, “The state of werecreature law is still biased more toward human safety than werecreature liberty. If you don’t say exactly the right things, the police could lock you away _forever_! Since this is a case where someone – maybe _more than one_ someone – died, getting convicted could mean getting _killed_ , Scott. Please, just do what I tell you to do, okay?”

“Okay,” Scott says, nodding slowly. He looks over to his alpha and sees Talia nodding grimly as well. Kira’s heartbeat is a little fast, and her cheeks flushed. Scott can’t help but ask her, “Why do you care so much about this? You’re not a werewolf.”

With an almost apologetic little smile, which Scott is having a hard time thinking of as anything but adorable, Kira says, “Kitsune.” She holds up one hand and tiny sparks of electricity run over her fingertips.

Scott doesn’t recognize the word, and the crackle of the electricity startles him, so Scott looks over at Talia.

Talia says, “Use your eyes, Scott.” The way she says it heavily implies she’s not talking about Scott’s actual eyes. She’s talking about his ability to see differently while shifted.

Scott lets his eyes shift, flaring brightly with color, and looks at Kira. She’s surrounded by a silhouette. It looks a little like a wolf, and Scott wonders if he missed out on some of the werewolf lore growing up. It certainly wouldn’t be a surprise given the way his father’s pack operated. Something in Scott’s gut tells him she’s not a type of werewolf. Kira is something else. Looking at the silhouette, Scott asks, “Fox?”

Kira nods, and Scott smiles at the victory of guessing correctly.

Before Scott lets his eyes fade back to normal, Talia takes him by the chin, turning him so she can look at him. “How long have your eyes been this color,” she asks gently.

Scott’s stomach drops and he holds his breath. Ancestors, no. It’s not possible, is it? Scott doesn’t want to know if it’s true, but he can’t help but ask, “Are they blue?”

“No,” Talia says slowly, drawing out the syllable. She lets go of Scott and repeats herself. “No. Nothing like that, sweetheart.”

“Then what is it?” Scott demands, standing up and looking Talia directly in the eye.

Talia’s eyes widen and flash red, and Scott realizes he’s made a mistake, standing up to his alpha like this. He’s not giving her the respect she deserves from him, so he looks away quickly. “Sorry.”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, Scott,” Talia tells him, turning him by the shoulders so he’s facing Kira again. Talia says into Scott’s ear, “Now, pay attention to Kira.”

Scott’s dressed and on the second hour of being grilled about the events of the night before, when a knock sounds from his door. Everyone, even Talia, looks at the door and freezes. Scott shoots a look over at his alpha, silently asking what he should do. Talia tilts her head like she’s listening, so Scott does the same. He hears one heartbeat on the other side of the door, but no others. Talia must agree with Scott’s assessment, because she nods and gestures for him to answer the door.

Scott takes a deep breath and goes to the door, opening it. The man on the other side of the door seems familiar, even _smells_ familiar, but Scott doesn’t quite recognize him. “Hello?”

“Scott?” the man asks, squinting one eye. “Scott McCall?”

Getting a better scent, Scott realizes that this man is a werewolf, probably an alpha by the way he makes the hairs on the back of Scott’s neck stand up. God, even his voice sounds familiar. “Yes?” Scott says, cutting a glance back at Talia, who’s approaching to stand at Scott’s back in support. “I-I mean, yeah. That’s me.”

“Oh, good,” the man says with a relieved sigh. “I knocked on the wrong door just now, got an eyeful of something I _never_ wanted to see.” The man laughs awkwardly for a second before clearing his throat and standing up straighter. He sticks his hand out toward Talia. “John Stilinski, of the Bakersfield Stilinski pack.”

Stilinski! Stiles’ dad’s name is John, right? This is Stiles’ dad? After the shock wears off, Scott totally starts to see the resemblance, more in the mannerisms Mr. Stilinski has, than in actual features he shares with his son.

Talia dips her chin in a slight nod and takes Mr. Stilinski’s hand. “Talia Hale, of the Beacon Hills Hale pack.”

“Wow,” Mr. Stilinski says, a bright smile on his face. “It’s an honor to meet you again, Alpha Hale. We were all devastated by your loss.”

“Thank you, Alpha Stilinski,” Talia replies, letting go of Mr. Stilinski’s hand. It’s about the warmest greeting between alphas that Scott has ever seen (not that he’s seen all that many to begin with, but he’s still surprised by the friendliness). “I’m not sure I ever got the chance to thank you for the work you put in on my family’s case.”

Mr. Stilinski shrugs. “When it comes to cases like yours, with the AWL involved, I think we were all eager to get involved. Really take the bastards down.” With a chuckle, Mr. Stilinski turns his attention back to Scott, sticking his hand in Scott’s direction. “So this is the kid my son shacked up with this summer.”

Scott laughs, a little embarrassed, but mostly just amused by Mr. Stilinski’s way with words. Nodding as he shakes Mr. Stilinski’s hand, Scott says, “Yeah. Sorry about taking so much of his family time.”

“Eh,” Mr. Stilinski says, waving Scott off. “It’s alright. When I sent him to La Lune, it was with the expectation that I wouldn’t be seeing him for the rest of the summer. I mean, when Stiles’ mother and I met at La Lune, you couldn’t separate us for the next _year_!”

“Right,” Scott says with a nervous chuckle, moving aside so he can show Mr. Stilinski in. “I have to ask, um. Sir? Why are you here? That had to have been at least a four hour drive.”

“Four and a half,” Mr. Stilinski says, taking notice of Kira, who’s standing next to the bed with her legal pad in hand. “Who’s this?”

Kira introduces herself, to which Mr. Stilinski says, “I’ve heard of you. Done some great work with the WRO, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Kira says, blushing as she nods excitedly. “I’ve had the opportunity to defend several of our peers from specious allegations.”

“And done a good job, too,” Mr. Stilinski says. “That wrongful death lawsuit against Baselam could have set us back fifty years had it gone the other way.”

Scott takes another look at Kira. He’s been thinking of her as a very junior person, just out of law school, and thought maybe she was the best Talia could find on short notice. Instead, she’s got enough of a reputation that Mr. Stilinski, who lives halfway down the state from them, has heard of her.

Maybe Talia knows what she’s doing when it comes to the situation Scott’s found himself in. He should’ve known better than to doubt his alpha knew best. Talia isn’t like Scott’s old alpha, and yet somehow, even ten years on, he still keeps forgetting that fact.

Still, there are two alphas in the room, and Scott hasn’t quite found out why. “Sir?” Scott asks Stiles’ dad. “What are you doing here?”

“Just in town to make sure you’re okay,” Sheriff Stilinski says, giving Scott a lopsided smile that reminds Scott of Stiles so much it hurts. “Maybe talk to a few of my FBSI friends in person.”

“You didn’t have to–” Scott starts to say, but the Sheriff cuts him off.

“No, no. If I wanted my son to graduate anytime in the next decade, I _definitely_ had to come. Not sure this’ll hold him off forever, but he should at least get through his mid-term exams before he quits school.”

“I told him to stay,” Scott assures Stiles’ dad. “I told him he had to stay.”

The Sheriff nods, and claps one hand on Scott’s shoulder. “And I appreciate that, Scott. I really do. But you’ve known my son for six weeks. I’ve known him for twenty-one years. You tell that boy to do one thing, nine times out of ten he’ll do the opposite.”

Scott nods, and tries to take the words to heart. He can definitely see the truth in them.

 

 

~*~

Stiles tries to keep his mind on his school work, but it’s no use. All of his thought goes into wondering about Scott and wondering about the case, so much so that he has to bullshit one of his major journalism papers about an hour before it’s due. His exams are both take home, and get the absolute minimum attention Stiles can possibly give them without failing, because he promised Scott he wouldn’t fail out.

At this point, Stiles doesn’t know how well he’s going to be able to keep that promise.

Mostly, Stiles uses his time to research all the databases he can get into, looking for a pattern in the deaths. This can’t have been random, can it? The killer has to have his own reasons for doing what he’s doing. Stiles just doesn’t know what those reasons could be. Any werewolf who gets caught harming a human has the harshest punishments in store for him.

Ancestors, Stiles was brought up paranoid of even _touching_ a human, lest he accidentally scratch them. His cousin Jackson was an exception, of course, because Jackson didn’t really count as human. He was born to a werewolf mother, and frequently expressed his desire to get the bite as soon as he was old enough to consent to it. A little scratch here or there from Stiles’ claws wouldn’t do any lasting damage. Plus, it was kind of fun bringing Jackson down a peg by sticking him with a claw and watching him hiss and bleed.

Maybe this werewolf, the one that was going around killing people, had the same sort of rationalization behind his violence. Maybe he was one of those werewolves who thought humans weren’t really people.

Stupid, fucking jackass, ruining things for everyone, but especially ruining things for Scott. Stiles could kill the murderer for what they’d done. Of course, the state of California would probably take care of that for him, but Stiles can still fantasize about doing the killing with his own claws and teeth.

But first Stiles has to catch the bastard. He knows the FBSI has some top notch people on the case, but he also knows that they’re probably more concerned about building a case against their suspect – Scott – rather than finding someone else who could’ve done it. Even with the Sheriff there, telling them they’re wrong, Stiles knows from experience they’re not going to listen to him.

They never did listen to Dad when he was trying to help them find Mom’s killer.

Stiles is about twenty hours into his research binge when his roommate, Tommy, knocks on his door. “Hey, you comin’ to class?”

Barely hearing what Tommy says, Stiles shakes his head. Instead, he tells Tommy, “Listen to this! There was another string of murders like this one about fifteen years ago, in Montana. This one kid – well, werewolf – went down for the murders. Seventeen year old.”

“Yeah, great,” Tommy says, but he doesn’t sound enthused at all that Stiles might be onto something here. “What, did he escape or something?”

Stiles pokes around, looking for the fate of this particular suspect. Without too much trouble, he finds it. Hands going cold and sweaty, Stiles replies, “No. He was executed five years ago. Cut in half.”

Tommy scoffs. “Then it couldn’t have been him. Whatever. C’mon. You know Professor Pasternack takes attendance.”

“ _Whatever?_ ” Stiles cries, standing up. An old piece of pizza falls out of his lap. “Not _whatever_ , Tommy! They cut him in half! They might cut my _mate_ in half!”

Holding up his hands in surrender, Tommy says, “Alright, dude. Chill. I’m sorry.”

Only after Stiles realizes that Tommy’s heart is racing does he recognize the fact that he’s just wolfed-out at his roommate. “Shit,” Stiles says, taking a deep breath and reaching for that one thought that serves as his anchor. “No, I’m sorry, dude. That was not cool.”

“Maybe you _should_ stay here,” Tommy says, taking a step back and dropping his hand. “Take a shower or something. I’ll tell Pasternack you’re not feeling well.”

Stiles agrees to let Tommy cover for him, and does get in the shower. He figures if he _does_ have to drive up to Davis at the drop of a hat, he's not going to want to make the trip while smelling like stale sweat and cheese dust. He's trying to make sure Scott still likes him at the end of this year long forced separation.

Stiles thinks about sitting on the information he's found, but what if it could be useful? Not everyone's brain works the way Stiles' brain does when it's on an information bender. It could take the authorities _weeks_ to find the same pattern. Weeks. Scott might not have weeks.

First things first, Stiles calls his dad, and he can hear Scott's voice in the background, talking with a woman-sounding person. Quickly, Stiles fills his dad in on the relevant case.

"Could be a copycat," Dad says, his pen scratching against paper. "Could be a weird coincidence."

"Yeah, sure, Dad," Stiles replies, mostly focusing on the fact that Scott has stopped talking in the background. They haven't spoken since the night before and Stiles is itchy with wanting to hear his mate. "D'you think I could talk to–"

"Yeah, yeah. It was nice knowin' ya," Dad mutters before the phone makes a soft clattering noise.

"Stiles?" Scott asks, almost breathless. Stiles has to admit he knows the feeling.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, feeling his heartbeat slow and his muscles settle just at the sound of Scott’s voice. “You okay, baby?”

Scott scoffs, and Stiles hopes he’s scoffing at the situation he’s in and not at Stiles. Stiles knows he and Scott are mates, but there’s still this whisper in the back of his head telling him that Scott will get sick of him sooner or later. “I’m alright,” Scott says, his voice flatter than Stiles would like. “I’ve been preparing with a lawyer my Alpha brought in. Oh, and your dad’s here!”

“Imagine that,” Stiles replies with a laugh. “Are you mad that I sent him?”

Almost immediately, Scott says, “No. Stiles, no. He’s been … helpful.”

“Oh, god. He’s being annoying, isn’t he?” Stiles feels his face grow warm. He knows he should’ve gone to Davis instead of letting his dad go instead.

“Only a little bit,” Scott whispers. In a louder voice, he says, “I’m fine, Stiles. We’re going to go give my statement to the police now. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Stiles has to fight back images of Scott in silver handcuffs, being escorted into a mountain ash lined jail cell. Sure, Stiles has never seen a mountain ash lined jail cell, because so many of Dad’s deputies are werewolves themselves, but he’s heard they exist. Stile can only imagine how awful it would feel, being confined in one of those cells.

Saying his goodbyes, Stiles bites his tongue before he says, “I love you.” He knows it’s true, he’s known it since the week after he met Scott, and Stiles knows that Scott is his mate. That’s a big deal, that’s a long-term sort of relationship, but it still feels too early to say the words.

Stiles thinks about going to his next class, but Scott’s case just won’t get out of his head. Stiles knows he’s found about as much as he can using the internet. It’s time to get some help from the authorities. Normally, he’d go sweet talk some of his dad’s deputies, maybe even bring Deputy Bettuzzi one of those cupcakes he likes. Bakersfield is too far away for Stiles to get there before most of the deputies start going home.

They might not even have the information Stiles needs. The murders all happened in Montana. No, Stiles needs to get this information from the Feds. Somehow.

An idea strikes Stiles and he hastily rummages through his desk, coming up two minutes later with the press badge he got during his internship at the Orange County Register last semester. The badge is still good, and it’s not like the Feds are going to care that his internship is over when he comes asking questions about what he’s found. They’re going to love him for solving their case for him.

Stiles throws the lanyard holding the badge over his head, and races across campus to where his jeep is parked. It’s still midday, and Stiles crosses his fingers, hoping traffic on I-5 isn’t too bad. Coming back to campus is going to be a bitch, but getting to the LA field office should go okay.

It does and Stiles is feeling pretty good about himself as he enters the FBSI building and introduces himself to the receptionist. Before he gets very far, this really tall agent (werewolf, Stiles’ nose tells him), comes up to the desk and asks, “Stilinski? Like the alpha?”

Suddenly, Stiles recognizes the agent. _Small world_ , he thinks. “Agent McCall, long time no see.”

Understanding spreads over McCall’s face and he frowns as he nods. “The Sheriff’s son.” McCall reaches forward into Stiles’ space and lifts his press badge away from his chest. “Orange County? Your pack is up in Kern County, isn’t it?” He lifts a suspicious eyebrow at Stiles.

“College,” Stiles says in explanation, pulling the badge out of Agent McCall’s hand. He’s older than Stiles, and taller, but they’re both betas, and Stiles thinks that if he had to fight Mr. McCall, he’d have a good chance of winning. “I’m doing a story on the attacks that have been happening in Northern California. Do you know anything about them?”

Frowning, Agent McCall says, “I know they’re an open investigation, and we don’t talk about open investigations.” Then he turns away from Stiles and starts walking toward the lobby elevators.

Stiles can’t let this chance slip away from him, so he follows Mr. McCall, relieved when he waves off the security officer, allowing Stiles to come with him. “Did you know something similar happened fifteen years ago?”

Stiles hears Agent McCall’s heart skip a beat as he turns back and gives Stiles a startled look.

Nodding, Stiles says, “Same MO. Random humans, attacked by a werewolf, spread out over six months or so. They convicted some kid, Brodie Markatos, of all the attacks.” Stiles takes an urgent step toward Agent McCall. “He was executed by bisection, after losing his appeal.”

“Sounds like justice,” Agent McCall says flatly, his heart skipping another beat.

The elevator dings and its doors open. Agent McCall, steps forward, but Stiles stops him with a hand on his arm. “Did you know your son is the prime suspect in the most recent death?”

Agent McCall’s face goes pale. He stops the elevator door when it starts closing on him, and demands, “What?”

“Scott,” Stiles says, like maybe this douchebag doesn’t remember his own son’s name. The way Scott talks about him, he might not. “They’re trying to pin this on him. You _have_ to–”

“You know Scott,” Agent McCall says, like it’s just occurring to him.

Which also means, Agent McCall has no idea that Stiles is Scott’s mate. Stiles would have thought the news would have made it to the McCall pack by now, but Agent McCall must not _want_ to know what’s going on in his son’s life if he doesn’t know about Stiles. It then occurs to Stiles that maybe Agent McCall doesn’t know about Stiles because Scott didn’t want him to know.

“Yeah, I know him,” Stiles says, deciding to bend the truth a little. “I mated this summer and he’s part of my new pack.”

Agent McCall licks his lips quickly, nodding his head. He looks almost impressed, like he doesn’t think Stiles would’ve had a chance of mating into the Hale pack. Stiles understands. He’s not quite over the shock of it either. McCall points at Stiles’ press badge and says, “Press or not, you should keep your nose out of places it doesn’t belong.”

Of course, Stiles’ brain has to jump right into a memory of nuzzling his nose against Scott’s balls while going down on him, and that’s really not helpful while standing in front of Scott’s estranged father. Stiles pushes the memory down and composes himself just in time to call to Agent McCall as the elevator doors close. “You have to help him, McCall. Whether you like him or not, he’s your son. He deserves your help.”

Agent McCall looks grim, but the elevator doors close before he replies. Dejected, Stiles slinks out of the lobby. He’s not going to get anything else out of the agents here, he can tell. Stiles might as well get back to Irvine before traffic becomes a nightmare (not that it’s that much better now). Maybe he can even get a little studying in for his midterm in a few days.

Stiles knows he’s kidding himself. As soon as he gets home, he’s just going to go over all the news articles again, looking for some pattern. Dad says maybe these new killings are a copycat, and if they are, maybe Stiles can find out who would _want_ to copy Markatos, and why.

 

 

~*~

“So, they just let you go?” Cora asks Scott, sitting down across from him at his library table. When he texted her to tell her where he was, he didn’t exactly expect her to show up, her own work in hand.

Nodding, Scott says, “Yeah. I guess they don’t really have enough evidence yet.” He sighs, trying to get back to the comparative physiology paper he’s supposed to be writing. “They told me not to leave town.”

Cora snorts and rolls her eyes, pulling her Econ 101 book out of her backpack and dropping it onto the table. Scott wouldn’t have thought she’d take Econ, but then again, Scott isn’t too sure what Cora’s thinking of in terms of majors. He doesn’t even know what he thinks would be a good fit for her. He’s known her for ten years, and still isn’t quite sure he’s got the hang of her.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she says, opening her book and taking out her tablet, which she pokes at a few times. “You’re not a badass just because some stupid cops think you could be a murderer.”

Thinking of the last time Scott play-fought with Cora – and got his ass handed to him – Scott winces. “Yeah, don’t worry. No chance of this going to my head when you’re around.”

Cora grins and starts working on her assignment. Shrugging, Scott does the same. He has to admit he likes her company. Cora feels like _pack_ and _home_ , and Scott needs both of those to get through this.

Her voice sly, Cora asks, “Did you really meet your mate’s dad?”

“Yeah,” Scott replies, his face going a little red. “He came up to show his support or something. It was sweet.”

“Is he staying in your apartment?” Cora asks with an amused grin.

Scoffing, Scott says, “In my tiny studio apartment? Yeah, no. Hotel.” Scott marks a sentence for later revision. “He actually caught a flight to Montana this morning.”

“Montana?”

“Following up on a lead Stiles found,” Scott explains, rubbing at his temples. “Can we just work for awhile?”

“Sure.” Cora chews on the end of her highlighter as she studies, leaving sharp tooth marks on it. It reminds him of when he first joined the pack and she used to chew through sticks while her permanent teeth were coming in.

About an hour later, Cora closes her book and stretches. “Mom go home, or she still in town?”

“Still in town, I think,” Scott replies, putting the finishing touches on his paper.

“We should get her to take us out for dinner,” Cora tells him, a smirk on her lips. “Think she’d pay for Georgio’s?”

Scott grins, his stomach rumbling at the mention of the restaurant. “God, I hope so. You wanna call her?”

Cora leaves the library to make the phone call, so Scott gathers up first his things, and then what’s left of Cora’s things. Before he gets her tablet back in her backpack, Scott’s phone buzzes with an incoming text. He finishes grabbing their belonging before he takes his phone out of his pocket.

_Werewolf attack reported on campus, 35 minutes ago. Stay indoors until further notice._

Scott swallows against a dry throat. Another attack on campus? So soon after the last one? It’s only been three days.

He hurries out to the front lobby of the library, finding Cora there, still on the phone with her mother. Scott puts the text back up on the screen of his phone and shows it to Cora, who stops midsentence.

“No, yeah, mom. I’m still here,” Cora says when Talia asks after her. “There’s been another attack on campus.”

“ _Ancestors damn them_ ,” Talia sighs, and Scott can’t remember the last time he’d heard his alpha swear like that. “Okay. This is alright. You were with Scott?”

“For the last hour, yeah,” Cora replies, giving Scott a side-long glance like he’s not supposed to hear that part of the conversation. It occurs to him that Cora must’ve come to study with Scott because Talia asked her to keep an eye on him. Scott’s not sure whether to be touched, or offended. “We’re at the health sciences library.”

A campus security officer steps into the building through the front doors and Scott finds himself taking a step closer to Cora at the sight of him. The security officer is human, but Scott knows they all carry high-power Tasers capable of incapacitating most werewolves. He smells like he might also have wolfsbane powder on him somewhere. Scott hasn’t run across wolfsbane on campus before.

“Mom?” Cora says, her eyes on the security officer. “Hurry.”

With that, Cora turns off her phone and shoves it into her pocket.

The security officer says, “There’s been an attack. I’m going to have to ask you to step back into the library, for your own protection.”

“We’re werewolves,” Cora says, and Scott could just strangle her for saying that. “We don’t need your protection.”

The man’s hand goes to the Taser on his belt, which makes Scott tense up and pull Cora behind him. “We’ll go back inside,” Scott says, inching toward the door while keeping himself between Cora and the security officer. “We’re just betas. We’ll go.”

The security officer says, “Maybe you should wait right here. Both of you.”

Scott freezes, looking back at Cora, who looks about ready to fight. He clutches her arm in one of his hands and shakes his head, hoping she’ll listen to him, even though he’s not Talia. He’s not her alpha. Once Cora nods shortly, Scott tells the officer, “Okay. We’ll wait right here until you say it’s okay for us to leave.”

The officer nods, keeping his eye on them as he uses his radio to talk to someone.

“This is bullshit,” Cora hisses at Scott, pressing against his back, like that’s going to get him to change his mind about trying the diplomatic way out of this. “We could take him.”

“Yeah,” Scott tells her, turning to look Cora in the eyes. “But we’re not going to. Please, Cora. I need you to help me out here. I can’t step even one toe out of line.”

She stares back into his eyes for a long moment, her eyes flashing yellow for a second before the glow fades away and she looks down, nodding. “Yeah. You’re right. We’ll wait for mom to get here.”

“We’ll wait for Talia,” Scott agrees, hugging Cora and rubbing the corner of his jaw against her cheek. The scent-sharing calms both of them down, and they wait together while the security guard looks at them. Scott feels like a criminal, which is stupid, because he loves nothing more than helping people. He also feels a little like a trapped animal, but he keeps reminding himself not to do anything stupid, for Cora’s sake, and Talia’s sake, and even Stiles’ sake.

It feels like _hours_ before a campus police officer shows up, Talia hot on his heels. He waves off the security officer as he approaches Scott and Cora. “Scott McCall?”

Scott nods.

“Where were you between the hours of three pm and five pm this afternoon?” The officer asks, flipping open a little notebook and readying a pen.

Scott needs to think about when he arrived at the library, but after a moment he’s able to positively say, “Here. At the library.”

“The whole time?” The officer asks, her face blank, though Scott can’t help but imagine the accusatory tone in her voice.

“Yeah,” he says, meeting Talia’s gaze. Talia gives him a slight, encouraging nod. “I was working on a paper. I came right here after my one o’clock class. Cora met me at, when? Three thirty?”

Cora nods. “More like three fifteen,” Cora says, and Scott doesn’t quite believe her, because he could have sworn she got there later, but her heartbeat stays steady. “Been with him the whole time.”

“See?” Talia says, putting herself between Scott and the officer. “He couldn’t have done this. Scott is a good student, and I won’t have you interfering with his education any more than you already have.”

“Two students are dead, Ms. Hale,” the officer says with a frown. “And how do I know your daughter isn’t lying? It wouldn’t be the first time someone has lied to keep their packmate out of trouble.”

Scott doesn’t like where this is headed at all. He can’t let this officer just say things like that about _Cora_! Rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, Scott sees his way out. Pointing up at the camera on the ceiling, Scott says, “Just check the security footage. It’ll show I’m telling the truth.”

The officer looks up and sees the camera, her cheeks flushing as she turns back to face Talia. He voice stern, if a little wavering, she says, “You’ll make sure your beta stays in town until we finish clearing him?”

“Of course, officer,” Talia replies, the corners of her mouth quirking upward as she sends Scott a proud glance. “And please, let us know if we can be of service in any way, to catch the werewolf who has done these horrible things.”

Stammering, the officer shakes her head. “No. I’m sure that won’t be necessary. After all, the FBSI is on the case. They have their own werewolves, and–”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that fact,” Talia replies. She puts one hand on Scott’s shoulder, and the other on Cora’s, before leading them both past the officer and toward the door. “Good night, officer. Good luck.”

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Scott asks, “What are we going to do?”

“Pretend we don’t have an officer following us,” Talia replies, and Scott has to fight the urge to look behind them. He uses his ears instead, and notices there are a set of footsteps that seem to be following them. “And go on with our lives. We’re having dinner, and then in the morning, I’m going to Sacramento. I have a friend at the FBSI office there, and I’ll see what I can get her to do for us.”

Talia’s plan seems a little sketchy, like she’s pulling strings that other werewolves wouldn’t have going for them, and Scott doesn’t like that. He thinks about arguing the point, about asking Talia not to go, but then he remembers the tone in Stiles’ voice as he told Mr. Stilinski about the boy who’d been convicted of a similar string of murders. They’d cut that boy in half, to make _sure_ he wouldn’t be able to heal.

Scott doesn’t want that to happen to him, not when he knows the tone just the suggestion of it puts into Stiles’ voice. If there’s anything Scott can do to keep Stiles happy, he’s going to do it.

That thought scares Scott. He’s not sure _anything_ is accurate. Is this what getting a mate does to you? Makes you rethink your morals and the lines you will and won’t cross? When Allison was Scott’s mate, he certainly felt like he would’ve done almost anything to be with her. It wasn’t true in the end, though, was it? Scott wouldn’t put himself in harm's’ way, wouldn’t let Allison’s family abuse him like they had been. When Allison made her choice not to denounce what her mother had done to him, Scott knew he had to walk away.

Scott doesn’t know if he’d ever be able to walk away from Stiles.

 

 

~*~

Stiles is in the middle of an exam when he gets this uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It has nothing to do with the exam, which he could practically do with his eyes shut, and Stiles thinks it _has_ to be coming from Scott. There’s something _wrong_ with Scott.

Except Stiles isn’t quite sure the unease is Scott’s and not his own, except for how suddenly it came on.

Stiles clenches his teeth and tries to go back to his exam, but it’s no use. The feeling in the pit of his stomach won’t be ignored. The fact that Stiles can’t tell _for sure_ that it’s his own anxiety makes his skin crawl and his leg bounce uncontrollably. Fuck, Stiles feels like he might scream if he has to endure this for much longer.

Deciding enough is enough, Stiles shuts his exam booklet, gathers up his things, and heads to the front of the room. He gives the TA his exam with a quick, “Sorry,” and then leaves.

Whatever. It’s not like the test was worth a quarter of his grade for the whole semester. Fuck. Maybe he’ll just drop the class and take it again later. In the one more semester he has left before he’s supposed to graduate.

Stiles hesitates just outside the lecture hall. He could go back in, finish his exam, and get an okay grade, even if his teeth feel too big for his mouth. Ancestors alive, his whole body feels too big for his skin.

Nope. Stiles can’t do it.

It’s just a grade. Scott is more important than a grade, and making sure Scott is okay is the most important thing Stiles can think of. Snorting to himself, Stiles realizes that he used to be the sort of person who looked down on someone who prioritized their romantic partners over their own life. Stiles hopes that’s not the kind of person he’s becoming.

There’s a way to be a good, caring mate, and still care about yourself too, isn’t there?

Stiles hopes so.

Right now, he’s pretty sure he’s taking care of himself by getting in his car and driving north as fast as the speed limit will allow. Stiles will go crazy if he has to spend another _minute_ like this.

Sometimes, Stiles has heard, that when the bond between mates isn’t quite as strong as it should be, there’s this crossed-wires thing that goes on. It’s been over a month since Stiles has seen Scott. Two full moons. Stiles knows he can’t take a third.

Maybe it’s not even the time that’s the issue. Maybe the mate bond gets screwed up with distance. Maybe the relief Stiles feels after an hour on the road is real, and not just a placebo effect.

He ignores Heather’s call when he misses their post-exam lunch date. He ignores his dad’s call when Heather must’ve let him know Stiles wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He ignores Jackson’s call, and four other packmates.

When he stops in Lost Hills for a late lunch, Stiles prays to all his favorite ancestors that his dad hasn’t put out an APB with his deputies to keep an eye out for Stiles, or his Jeep. He uses the restroom and eats as quickly as possible. As he’s sitting in his car, about to start up the engine, so he can go refill the gas tank at the station across the street, Stiles realizes that he has to tell his dad _something_. There are far too many worried voicemails on his phone to ignore them any longer.

With a sigh, Stiles texts, _Driving to Davis. Don’t try to stop me._

When he finishes filling up, Stiles checks his phone again. He’s got a return text from the Sheriff, which says, _Don’t get into trouble_ , like a text is going to change Stiles’ ability to get into or stay out of trouble.

Still, Stiles texts back, _Sure thing, Pops_.

He reaches Davis as the sun’s going down. It’s been too long since he last ate, and his Jeep is starting to run out of gas again, but Stiles can only think about getting to Scott. It takes a frustratingly long amount of time to find Scott’s apartment, because Stiles has only been there once, when Scott moved back in for the school year, before Stiles drove back to Bakersfield. Stiles’ phone doesn’t help too much, because Stiles can’t remember Scott’s address.

Eventually Stiles just follows that knotted feeling in his stomach, letting it lead him through town until he comes to a little three-story apartment building. Stiles parks on the street, noticing the cop car parked across the road, and goes through the unlocked front door of the building. He remembers Scott is on the third floor, and the door on the left smells a lot more like him than the door on the right, so Stiles knocks on that one.

The heartbeat inside Scott's apartment speeds up at the sound of Stiles' knock, but nothing else happens for a few seconds. Stiles is about to knock again when footsteps rush get to the door. The lock clicks and the door opens to reveal Scott, his eyes almost as wide as his smile. "Stiles!"

"Hey, Scotty," Stiles replies, taking a few steps forward so he can kiss Scott and kick the door closed behind them. Just being in Scott's presence starts to unravel the knot in Stiles' stomach, and the first press of Stiles' lips against Scott's is like breathing clean air. "Hi."

"Hi," Scott replies. He opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but Stiles doesn't want to give him the chance. If they start talking, Stiles is going to have to explain why he's here, instead of seeing to his responsibilities. He's really not in the mood for Scott's gentle reminders of those responsibilities.

Really, what Stiles wants to do most is shore up their bond, even if now that Stiles is here, it doesn't feel weakened or eroded at all.

Not that shoring up is a bad idea. Not at all.

Stiles gets Scott's shirt off, and from there, it's a short leap to getting both of them naked and on the bed.

Stiles feels desperate to connect with Scott, and even the press of his skin against Scott’s as he clambers over Scott and presses him into the mattress isn’t enough to calm the itch in Stiles’ skin. Stiles kisses Scott, nipping at Scott’s lower lip and sucking on his tongue. He starts out with one thigh between Scott’s legs, but decides that’s not good enough, that’s not what he wants.

Pulling back, Stiles kneels, pulling on the closer of Scott’s knees so he’ll bend it and put that leg on Stiles’ other side. As Stiles settles back in the space between Scott’s legs, Scott stops him with a hand on Stiles’ chest. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Stiles whines, running his hand down Scott’s side and getting a handful of Scott’s ass.

Scott groans, but he doesn’t let Stiles lean forward. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I need to make you feel better, okay?” Stiles explains, whining again in protest when Scott still won’t let him close enough to kiss.

Instead, Scott sits up, and Stiles knows he’s lost the initial surprise. “Stiles?”

Stiles takes a chance, kissing Scott, and this time Scott allows it. He lets Stiles kiss him and kiss him, and then pull Scott close, Scott’s legs wrapped around Stiles’ waist. “Please tell me you need this as much as I do, Scotty.”

Scott looks into Stiles’ eyes for a moment, and then nods. He gives Stiles another long kiss and grinds their dicks together, which makes Stiles cry out in relief. He’s crying out again, but this time in protest when Scott pulls away.

“Just getting lube,” Scott says, giving Stiles a fond eye roll.

Stiles realizes he’s breathing heavily as he tries to laugh. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.

Scott opens a drawer next to his bed, pulls out the tube, and hands it to Stiles. Laying back, Scott smiles at Stiles and reaches for him. “C’mere.”

Not needing a second invitation, Stiles practically falls onto Scott, kissing his lips and then moving downward. “I’m gonna fuck you,” he says as he scrapes his teeth against Scott’s neck. “Okay?”

Scott groans, his hips canting up and his cock pushing hard against Stiles’ belly. Stiles takes that as a yes, since the scent of Scott’s arousal drowns out all his other emotions.

“Take care of you,” Stiles adds, moving down further until he’s got his lips around Scott’s cock.

Stiles’ fingers tremble and feel about as useless as they were the first time they did this. Of all the times he and Scott have had sex, they’ve only done it this way twice before. Just like the first time, Stiles doesn’t want to screw it up.

It turns out it’s pretty difficult to screw up, when he’s paying attention to Scott’s heartbeat and the little moans he makes when something feels good. Just a few minutes later, when Scott’s asshole is wet and takes two fingers like they’re nothings, Scott cries, “C’mon, Stiles!”

“Now?” Stiles asks, needing to double check, just to satisfy his own insecurity.

Scott pulls on Stiles’ bicep, crying, “Yes! Come here!”

Stiles can’t resist it when Scott tells him to do something. It’s annoying, really, but the first press into Scott’s body makes everything else start to feel unimportant. “Oh, fuck,” Stiles sighs when he’s pressed as far into Scott as he can go. “God, I can feel how good this makes you feel.”

“Same,” Scott gasps, pulling on the back of Stiles’ neck so he leans down for a kiss. “It’s better if you move.”

Stiles pulls out and thrusts back in, closing his eyes as they threaten to roll back into his head. His whole body feels like it’s floating, and he’s certain all the way to his bones that Scott is _his_. “Yeah. You’re right about that, Scotty.”

Scott laughs, but it turns into a groan when Stiles thrusts again.

It’s an embarrassingly short amount of time before Stiles feels like he’s past the point of no return. Quickly, he reaches down to stroke Scott’s dick. Balancing on one hand makes Stiles’ thrusts shallower, but that probably buys him an extra five seconds to try to get Scott off.

Stiles realizes he’s coming only after Scott cries out, come hitting Stiles’ chest and hand, ass clenching around Stiles’ pulsing cock. Still buried in Scott, Stiles slumps down onto him, not even bothering to take his hand from around Scott’s dick. “I missed you.”

Scott kisses Stiles’ forehead. “Missed you too.” He readjusts his legs, but doesn’t move far enough to make Stiles slip out of him. Stiles loves him a little more for that. “Didn’t expect to see you today.”

“You were upset,” Stiles says, burying his face further into Scott’s neck. “I couldn’t think.”

Scott sighs, running his hand up Stiles’ back and into his hair. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Stiles assure Scott, even though it kind of is. If Scott wasn’t so lovable, Stiles wouldn’t have mated with him in the first place. “Wanna talk about it?”

Scott shrugs. His cocks twitches in Stiles’ hand. “Kinda just want to have sex again, forget about everything.”

“I’m onboard with that plan,” Stiles says with a chuckle, tightening his loose grip into something more firm. Scott squirms underneath him.

Instead of getting things going, though, Scott whispers, “The cops keep following me around.”

Resigning himself to the conversation, Stiles lets go of Scott’s dick and rolls to the side, propping himself up on one elbow so he can watch Scott’s face. “Yeah, I saw one outside. Think they’re expecting you to attack someone else?”

Scott nods, rolling closer to Stiles, his face practically in Stiles’ armpit. “I hate it.”

Suddenly the coiled feeling of uneasy restlessness makes more sense. It _was_ Scott’s emotion, filtering through their mate bond. It wasn’t Stiles losing his grip on his own emotions. As sucky as it is that Scott’s in this situation, Stiles feels a little better. He’s not losing his mind.

“They’ll catch the real killer soon,” Stiles says, petting Scott’s hair. “I mean, I bet my dad is making great progress in Montana.”

“Last I heard,” Scott says into Stiles’ armpit, “he was flying back into Sacramento tonight.”

Stiles settles down on the single pillow on Scott’s bed, wrapping his arms around Scott. “So, I saw your dad the other day.”

“Really?” Scott looks up at Stiles. “What was he doing in Irvine?”

Wincing at what he suspects Scott’s reaction will be, Stiles says, “I kind of went to the LA field office.”

Scott chuckles, settling against Stiles again. “Of course. Did you tell him about us?”

“No,” Stiles replies. “I thought maybe you should do that.”

“Yeah, I probably should,” Scott replies. “Last time I talked to him was Wolf Moon. He calls.”

“Once a year?” Stiles thinks that sucks. He can’t imagine talking to his dad less than once a _week_ , and that’s pushing it. Of course, it’s been twelve years since he spoke to his mother, but she’s dead, so that’s a pretty good excuse.

Scott nods, the stubble on his chin scratching against Stiles’ chest. “Sometimes he forgets, but last year he didn’t.”

“Hooray,” Stiles says sarcastically. “Not as awful as he could have been!”

Scott snorts with laughter.

As the moment grows quiet, Stiles feels like he’s breathing easy for the first time since he left Scott here in Davis over a month ago. He’s pretty sure Scott’s asleep, breathing shallow and even against his chest, so Stiles whispers, “It’s too hard being apart from you.”

“Mm-hmm.” Scott tightens his hold on Stiles, which is just the thing Stiles needs to silence his brain long enough to fall asleep.

 

 

~*~

Scott feels almost chipper the next morning as he leaves Stiles in his apartment and heads for class. Scott tries to hold onto the feeling as he walks to campus and notices a police officer across the street and down a block is shadowing him. Scott thought police were trained in how not to aggravate a werewolf’s instincts. Being followed is almost as aggravating as an all-out confrontational posture.

Scott hates that they’re able to do this to him. He should be able to enjoy his life, and his mate, in peace. All he did was try to save a man’s life. He doesn’t deserve this.

The worry that a cop is going to startle him and get hurt as a result makes it difficult to pay attention in class. Scott knows his grades are already starting to suffer. If he’s going to get into medical school, he can’t afford to have weak grades. He has to be as close to top of the class as he can possibly manage, especially because this semester’s grades will be included in his applications.

After his two morning classes, Scott calls in to his part-time job, telling them he has to deal with his case some more. Scott almost takes the opportunity to go back to his apartment, so he can spend some more time with Stiles before he has to go back to school. Instead, when Scott catches another glimpse of one of the cops tailing him, he catches the next cab heading into Sacramento. Once he’s downtown, he hails a cab and gives the driver Kira’s card.

It’s mid afternoon when Scott gets to the building, and it occurs to Scott that he probably should have called ahead, to make sure Kira was actually _in_ the building before he came here. Shrugging to himself, Scott decides to go in. He tells the receptionist who he is, and he’s ushered into Kira’s office almost immediately, which he did not expect.

A little shocked, Scott waves at Kira, who’s sitting behind her desk, looking a little startled as well. “Hi.”

“Scott!” Kira stands up, which knocks over a can of pens and pencils that had been balanced precariously on the edge of her desk. As she starts to gather the pens back up, she says, “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“I should have called ahead,” Scott says, picking up the few pens that fell off the front of her desk. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” Kira gestures to the chairs in front of her desk. “Please, sit down. Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s this police surveillance thing,” Scott admits, sighing as he sits down. “It’s like they’re trying to annoy me into doing something.”

Kira gives Scott a concerned look, her brow furrowing, as she sits down in her chair. “What have they been doing?”

“Just following me,” Scott insists, lest she think he’s talking about something worse. “It’s prickling my instincts is all.”

Shaking her head, Kira mutters, “They should know better.” In a clearer voice, she asks, “What are you concerned they might instigate you into doing?”

“I don’t know,” Scott replies with a shrug and a sigh. “Hitting one of them, maybe. As the full moon gets closer…”

“I know,” Kira says with a nod. “Their threats, perceived or otherwise, are just going to seem that much worse. How is your control normally?”

“Excellent,” Scott insists. “I mean, I worked on it a lot after I broke up with my first mate.”

“Allison Argent,” Kira says, her voice compassionately sad. “I’m so sorry you haven’t been able to keep away from trouble. It doesn’t seem like you deserve it.”

“Does anyone?” Scott asks, to which Kira concedes the point by tilting her head. Wanting to get back to the point of his visit, Scott asks, “Is there anything you can do for me? Get them to back off, somehow?”

Kira looks down at her desk and shuffles a few papers. “Since they’re not doing anything illegal, there’s nothing I can do to stop them. It’s unfair, given the amount of stress you're under could cause just about anyone to lose control. I can, however, get you some help.”

“Really?” Scott asks, hope making his heart thump harder in his chest. “How?”

Holding up one finger, Kira picks up her phone and punches a few numbers. After a moment, she tells the woman’s voice on the other end, “Would you see if Boyd is available? Thanks.”

“Boyd?” Scott asks. “Another lawyer?”

Kira shakes her head. “No. Just someone we work with fairly often. He’s an insurance policy of sorts. Usually he helps out in new-bite situations, but in this instance...”

Scott jumps to the first conclusion he can think of, “He’ll keep me from losing control?”

Kira squints and wrinkles up her nose. “Not exactly? It’s more like–”

A knock on the door interrupts Kira, and after she calls for the person to enter, a large man – werewolf, Scott notices – with dark skin and a close-shaved head walks into the room. “You wanted to see me?”

“Boyd,” Kira says brightly. Hearing his name, Scott suddenly recognizes the man.

“Boyd!” he cries standing up. “From La Lune this summer!”

“Scott McCall,” Boyd says, his heartbeat speeding up slightly. “Nice to see you again. With all your clothes.”

Scott’s face goes hot as he remembers Boyd was one of the first people to find out about Scott and Stiles – when Boyd and Erica walked in on them making out. At the time, Scott had been so mortified, he’d run off, leaving Stiles alone. Now, Scott is more embarrassed about his reaction to being caught, than the fact that he’d been caught making out with his mate.

“Nice, uh, to see you too,” Scott manages to say. “How’s Erica?”

Boyd’s face softens at the mention of his mate, and he shrugs one shoulder. “Surviving. Looking for a job here in Sacramento.”

“She joining your pack?” Scott can’t help but be curious. Stiles has told him some stories about Erica’s alpha, Mr. Lahey. “Bet her alpha isn’t too happy about losing a bitten beta.”

“He knew the risks when he sent her to La Lune,” Boyd says flatly, like it’s something he’s practiced saying. “So, what do you need me for?”

Scott turns to Kira, since this was her idea. She explains about Scott’s police problem, and then says, “I need you to shadow Scott–”

Scott opens his mouth to protest that he doesn’t need _another_ person following him around, but Kira waves him off.

“Shadow Scott,” Kira says, “and make sure you stand between him and any authorities who might provoke him. Make sure you record these encounters, as well.”

Boyd nods and gives her a simple, “Got it.” Turning to Scott, he smiles and says, “Looks like it’s you and me, boss.”

Scott has to admit, he kind of likes the way Boyd calls him boss. He never thought he would, but he does. “Does this work?” he asks Boyd, turning his gaze to Kira in case she wants to answer as well.

“It has in the past,” Kira says. “And it’s the best we have. Will you let us do this for you?”

Scott thinks through the possible drawbacks, and stumbles across one. “How much is this going to cost?”

Kira waves him off again. “Don’t worry about it. Your case is being paid for in part by Alpha Hale, and in part by the WRO. People make donations to help for exactly this sort of situation.”

Scott doesn’t feel exactly comfortable taking the fruits of other people’s donations, but he thinks about the alternative – going up against the police and a possible murder charge without Kira and Boyd’s help – and decides it’s something he’ll just have to live with.

“Okay,” Scott says with a sigh. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Kira smiles brightly, like Scott has just made her day, which makes Scott smile as well. If he wasn’t already mated, Scott thinks he would probably think about asking Kira out. Scott reminds himself that he has Stiles waiting for him in his apartment, probably still naked, or naked again. He asks, “Any way I could get a ride back home?”

“I’ll take you,” Boyd says, ushering Scott through the door and giving Kira a nod goodbye. “We can discuss the particulars of the arrangement on the way.”

Walking out of the attorney’s office, Scott’s glad he came here today. He’s glad he reached out for help.

 

 

~*~

Stiles lays in Scott’s bed in Scott’s tiny studio apartment and ignores the way his phone buzzes every few minutes. He knows if it’s his dad, or if it’s something important, it will be a call, not a text. Most of the texts have been from Heather and Jackson, though Stiles has also gotten a few scathing ones from his Media 402 group members. They tend to be more the email sort of people.

Right now, Stiles has his laptop hooked up to Scott’s wireless, and he’s cross-referencing names his dad has emailed him with public records from around the country. Most of them are normal people, who just had slight connections to the murder victims in Montana. None of the victims actually seem to have anything to do with each other, and they don’t seem to have connections to the man convicted of their murders, either. For all intents and purposes, they really do look like random attacks, perpetrated by a werewolf so consumed by bloodlust that he’s unable to hold himself back from killing.

The murders actually look a little too random to Stiles, especially since Dad said everyone in the Montana pack insisted Markatos had never had problems with control before. It seems to Stiles that Markatos could be nothing more than a patsy, like he’d insisted in every interview he’d had with the police.

It’s a good theory, but it’s a theory that terrifies Stiles because of the implications for Scott’s case. Stiles _knows_ Scott could never do something like they’re accusing him of. Sure, he’s only known Scott for just shy of two months, but they’re mated. Stiles knows Scott inside and out, even if they haven’t had quite enough time to hear all of each other’s stories.

Stiles ignores another email, telling himself if he can only _focus_ on finding out who framed Markatos fifteen years ago, he can ensure his mate’s safety. Once Scott is in the clear, Stiles will go back to school.

Stiles’ phone rings next, so he picks it up before he realizes it’s not his dad and it’s not Scott. “Hey.”

“Mr. Stilinski?” Stiles gulps at the tone in his professor’s voice. “I’m calling because you’ve missed two classes, and your group mates seem to be having trouble getting a response from you.”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles replies, setting his laptop aside and resting his face in the palm of one hand while the other holds the phone to his head. Distantly, he hears someone come in the door on the first floor and start climbing the stairs. “Yeah, sorry. I had a bit of a family emergency, and I just haven’t gotten around to letting everyone know.”

“How long do you expect this _family emergency_ to keep you out of class? You know, I can only accept so many absences before I’m forced to give you an incomplete.”

Shit. Stiles only has one semester after this. He won’t have enough time to shoehorn this class into his schedule _again_. If it’s even offered in the spring, which it might not be. While Stiles is still thinking, Scott comes in the door, nodding when he sees Stiles is on the phone.

“I’m not sure,” Stiles tells his professor. If there’s anything Stiles learned growing up with a sheriff as a father, it’s that the criminal justice system takes time. Deciding to make an estimate that he knows is woefully too short, but also that he can’t get away with longer, Stiles says, “Maybe a week?”

The professor hums, but then says, “Okay. And do try to put some work in for the group project, even though you’re away. Surely you’ll have at least a little down time.”

“Yeah, uh-huh,” Stiles assures her, because he doesn’t really want to lie in front of Scott. “Thanks for calling.”

Before the professor can argue, or try to make another suggestion about how Stiles should use his time, Stiles hangs up on her.

“Everything okay?” Scott asks, crossing the room and brushing the curtains aside so he can look out the window.

Stiles decides to ignore Scott’s question. “Is that cop still sitting out there?”

“Yeah,” Scott replies, looking back to pull a face at Stiles, which makes Stiles laugh. “But it’s alright. I’ve got a bodyguard of my own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles asks. “Am I your body guard? I mean–” Stiles gets up off the bed and joins Scott at the window, wrapping his arms around Scott’s waist from behind. “I’ll watch your body as long as you need me to.”

Scott laughs, his smile making his dimples crease deeply. Turning in Stiles’ arms, Scott replies, “ _You_ need to go back to school. I was talking about Boyd.”

“Boyd who?” Stiles asks, wondering if this is some sort of strange mind game. “Is he supposedly in the room with us right now?”

With a chuckle, Scott walks Stiles back toward the bed. “No, Boyd from La Lune. He works for Kira, doing this sort of thing. He’s doing a check-in with his pack and gathering some of his things, then he’s going to come back over and make himself conspicuous.”

“He’s going to be _here_?” Stiles asks, looking around the tiny studio apartment. “He’s not sleeping in the bed, is he?”

Scott opens his mouth, but doesn’t exactly answer, which is answer enough for Stiles. “Oh, my god! What about–” He points back and forth between himself and Scott. “There won’t be any privacy!”

“You know I love seeing you,” Scott says, and it’s clear his mind is already made up.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Stiles cries, “You want me to go back to school!”

Scott straddles Stiles’ hips, which is a completely unfair move. “I’ll see you at winter break,” Scott says softly, looking straight into Stiles’ eyes in that lovey-dovey way he has. Stiles is putty under the force of that look. “I’ll miss you every day until then, but it’s for the best, Stiles. We both need to graduate.”

“Graduation is for the weak,” Stiles says, his voice strained as his body starts responding to Scott. “I’ll just stay here, be your kept mate.” He runs his hands up Scott’s thighs to Scott’s waist.

“I don’t want a kept mate.” Scott grinds his hips down, which is totally unfair. “I want a mate who challenges me.”

Stiles laughs, though it’s muted by the fact that all of his blood is rushing south. “Is that what I do?”

Scott takes Stiles’ hands and brings them up, pinning them to the bed over Stiles’ head. That act alone has Stiles heart beating wildly.

“Have you met you?” Scott asks with a laugh, pressing his lips to Stiles’.

Stiles tries to get out of the hold, to demonstrate how he can challenge Scott, but Scott’s got leverage working in his favor. Stiles twists and starts to get free, but Scott just kisses Stiles again, mouth moving slowly against Stiles’ lips until Stiles can’t remember why he was trying to get away. As he pulls back, Scott’s eyes flash, and it strikes Stiles that their color is wrong. Stiles quickly forgets about the observation as Scott whispers, “Wanna be in you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles replies, shuddering as Scott mouths at his neck. He tries to spread his legs, but Scott’s knees are on either side of his thighs, holding them together. “ _Scott_!”

Scott lets Stiles up long enough for both of them to wrestle out of their clothes, and then he’s back, his hips between Stiles’ spread thighs, and his hands pinning Stiles’ wrists once again. Scott’s dick lines up next to Stiles’ and Stiles could almost come just like this, like he did the first time they were together on the full moon.

Two more full moons have passed since that night, and Stiles knows now how much better it feels having Scott’s dick inside him, rather than next to his own. Not that this isn’t good, too. It’s just not what Stiles wants right now.

Pulling against Scott’s hold on his wrists, Stiles says, “C’mon, Scott. I’ve been waiting for you all day. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

Scott just smirks before hitching up one of Stiles’ legs and pressing in. It stings, because yeah, Stiles is still sort of opened up from that morning, but without extra lube, it’s rough going. Stiles groans in protest, using his leg to halt Scott’s progress. Scott pauses, this glint in his eye as he says, “I thought you didn’t want to wait.”

“Stop being an asshole,” Stiles replies, laughing at how absurd he finds the situation. “It’s not going to make me love you any less. Just get some lube.”

Chuckling, Scott rolls his eyes, but he does as Stiles asks, grabbing the lube from where it fell on the floor earlier and slicking himself up. Stiles watches with hungry eyes, already feeling empty, even if he’s glad for the lack of pain. Scott shuffles back between Stiles’ legs, pressing the head of his cock against Stiles’ hole. It’s cool and slick, but quickly warms up as Scott presses in, so slowly it makes Stiles want to cry. “If I do this just right,” Scott asks, his breath catching and his eyes flashing again, his teeth sharp, “will it make you love me more?”

Stiles doesn’t even think about it before he lets his wolf loose as well, digs his claws into Scott’s mattress and slurs around his fangs, “Impossible.”

 

 

~*~

Stiles is just starting to think about maybe getting up to pee when there's a knock at the door. Beside him, Scott stirs, muttering, "Shit. Boyd's here."

"You never did tell me where he's going to stay," Stiles says, taking the shirt Scott throws him and pulling it on.

Hopping into a pair of pants, Scott says, "We're taking turns sleeping on the floor."

That sounds like an an awful idea, so Stiles says so out loud. He adds, "And I'm just headed back to Irvine? Just like that? In the middle of everything?"

"You've got school, Stiles." Scott softens the practicality of his words with a kiss as he hands Stiles a pair of boxers. Scott heads over to the door, pausing long enough for Stiles to scramble into his clothes and get decent.

“Hey, Boyd,” Scott says as he opens the door. “Thanks for doing this.”

Boyd gives Stiles a look, raises his eyebrow at Scott, and then crosses the studio apartment, moving aside the blinds so he can look down at the street below. “How long has that cop been there?”

“They change out a few times a day,” Stiles speaks up, since he’s sure he’s been paying more attention to the cops than Scott has. “They don’t stick around when Scott’s not here, but tend to show up a little while before he gets back from class.”

“They have my schedule?” Scott asks as he closes the door, his face going pale. “How did they–”

“School records,” Boyd says, letting the blinds go and turning back to face the room. “Observation. It’s not hard to get a feel for someone’s schedule after a few days.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at Boyd, because that’s exactly what someone with experience in the matter would say. Whatever. If Boyd has experience tailing people, it’s probably for the best he’s who Kira hired to help keep Scott safe.

Scott clears his throat, but doesn’t speak, so Stiles turns in that direction, finding Scott giving him a significant look. “Weren’t you about to get going?” Scott asks.

Stiles weighs his options here. He could stay, and somehow deal with Boyd being a third-wheel for the foreseeable future, even at night. He could go back to Irvine, and be half a day’s drive away from his mate when the other shoe drops.

Or, Stiles could leave Scott’s apartment and go crash at his dad’s hotel in town. Scott wouldn’t even have to know Stiles didn’t go back to school. Dad would know, but he’s known Stiles long enough to understand when he’s going to lose the argument.

Yeah, that could work.

It’ll only work if Scott really believe that Stiles is agreeing to leave town. Stiles has to really believe that’s where he’s going until he’s said goodbye to Scott. So, Stiles does his best impersonation of someone telling the truth, by letting himself believe it. He’s leaving Scott for the next two months. They’re not going to see each other, and Stiles is going to be too far away. “This sucks,” Stiles says, pouting as he grabs his book bag and starts gathering up the few things he brought with him.

Helpfully, Scott hands Stiles his phone charger. “Yeah, I know.”

“This is the kind of thing mates usually support each other through,” Stiles argues, huffing as he takes the charger and stuffs it in his bag. He turns to Boyd and says, “Wouldn’t you want to be at Erica’s side if she was going through something like this?”

Boyd shrugs, which tells Stiles absolutely nothing. Gee, thanks Boyd.

“Whatever,” Stiles says, stuffing his feet into his shoes. As he pulls on his coat, it strikes him how much it’s picked up Scott’s scent, just from being in his apartment. Stiles’ heart hurts, because he knows it’s not going to be long before that scent fades. Pouting, he turns to Scott, “Switch jackets with me?”

Scott’s jacket is hanging on the back of the door, and it’s a little heavy for Southern California, but all Stiles cares about is that it smells like him. Scott looks back and forth between Stiles and the jacket, nodding after a second. “Okay, baby.”

The term of endearment makes Stiles smile. No one’s ever really called him that before. His short-lived relationship with Heather aside, Stiles hasn’t been someone’s boyfriend before. He never really got the appeal of pet names for himself, until Scott started using them.

Stiles shrugs off his coat, handing it to Scott as Scott gives him the jacket he took from the back of the door. Stiles puts on Scott’s jacket, finding it slightly tight in the shoulders and short in the arms. It’s nothing uncomfortable, and the feeling of being wrapped up in Scott’s scent makes up for it. Stiles inhales deeply at the lapel and smiles. “Thanks, babe.”

Scott grins, which never fails to make Stiles’ heart flutter. Stiles starts leaning closer to Scott to kiss him, when he realizes Boyd is still in the room, very obviously studying Scott’s music collection and _not_ paying attention to what Scott and Stiles are doing.

Quickly noticing what made Stiles stop, Scott clasps Stiles’ hand and tugs it. “C’mon. I’ll walk you out.”

Stiles nods, swallowing against the lump in his throat. He’s not going to cry. He might not see Scott in far too long for his liking, but he is _not_ going to cry.

He cries a little, as soon as they reach the bottom step in the lobby. Sniffling, and wiping away the tear, Stiles gives Scott the best smile he can come up with. “I guess this is it.”

“I swear, the time will go fast,” Scott says, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles sets his hands at Scott’s waist, pulling him close. “I’ll be down in Bakersfield with you before you know it.”

“You’re sure your alpha is okay with you spending the holidays with me?”

Chuckling, Scott brushes his nose against Stiles’. “She’s going to have to get used to it. It’s not like we’ll stop spending time with your family once you join my pack.”

“True,” Stiles replies with a sigh. He is actually looking forward to introducing Scott to his family. Provided Scott makes it through this trouble he’s having at the moment, and doesn’t get unfairly executed. God, Stiles doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to, but he has to. “I should probably go if I want to make it back to Irvine before midnight.

Scott nods. “Yeah.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to Stiles’, and Stiles decides he’s going to give Scott one hell of a kiss to remember him by during the next two months.

Sliding one hand up Scott’s back and keeping the other one at Scott’s waist, Stiles dips his mate low. He holds onto the kiss, even though Scott laughs into it, until he pulls Scott upright again. “Bye, Scott.”

The twinkle in his eyes getting watery, Scott gives Stiles a brave smile. “Bye, Stiles.”

The L word almost trips off Stiles’ tongue but he’s not sure he wants to use it quite yet. Not when he doesn’t have hormones making his tongue loose. He gives Scott one last, quick kiss, and then bolts out the door before he loses his nerve.

Halfway to where his Jeep is parked, Stiles starts letting himself believe he’s not actually leaving town yet. It helps a little bit with the ache in his chest, but not as much as he’d like. He waits until he’s a few blocks away and definitely out of earshot before he calls his dad. “Hey, Pops. What room are you staying in again? I’m comin’ on over.”

 

 

~*~

“Thanks again for agreeing to do this make-up lab for me,” Scott tells his TA, a grad student named Trish, as he mixes the last few components of the reaction. “I know you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” she says with a smile, her eyes flicking to where Boyd’s sitting in the corner, reading a thick book. “I know what it’s like.”

She doesn’t have to explain further. Scott knew on the first day of class Trish was a werewolf. Scott makes sure he follows the next step of his protocol correctly before he asks, “Did something like this happen in your pack?”

Trish nods. “One of my cousins got divorced. He lost control on the next full moon.”

“Did he hurt someone?” Scott asks, wanting to watch Trish’s face, but needing to keep his focus on the beaker in front of him.

“Keep stirring,” Trish says, reaching out and adjusting the height of Scott’s Bunsen burner. “Almost. My alpha caught him in time, but not before people saw him.”

Scott was too young to pick up much about the law while he was still living with his father, but there are a few things he does know. “He went to prison?”

Trish nods. “Five years, even though no one got hurt. He gets out next year.”

“I’m sorry.” Scott sighs, finishing his stirring step and setting his stirring rod in a clean beaker.

After a few more minutes, Scott’s at the drying step, so he puts his beaker in the fume hood. Trish cracks her neck and takes off her protective goggles. Scott thinks it’s a little silly to wear them in the first place, because they can heal almost any wound, but he supposed Trish has to be a good role model for the human students as well. “Do you mind if I go use the restroom?” Trish asks, unbuttoning her lab coat.

“Yeah, no,” Scott says, closing the sash on the fume hood. “Go ahead. I’m just going to work on writing in my lab notebook.”

Trish gives Scott a proud smile, then nods at Boyd as she leaves the room.

Boyd sort of grunts in acknowledgement, eyes going back to his book.

Scott sits down at the lab bench, pushing his goggles up onto his head so he can better read his notebook, and starts making notes. Once he finishes that, he notices that he still has ten more minutes before his sample is going to be dry, so he starts to read ahead in his instructions for the lab they’re doing during regular class time in the morning.

Boyd standing up, his chair squeaking as it slides against the linoleum, draws Scott’s attention. "What is it?" Scott asks, the creases on Boyd's forehead making him want to hold his breath in worry. "What's wrong?"

"Thought I heard something," Boyd replies. "TA's been gone too long."

Scott realizes Boyd is right. "Do you think something happened to her?" He wonders what could've happened. Normally you don't worry about a werewolf, male or female, because they can take care of themselves. The hair on the back of Scott's neck stands on end. "What do we do?"

"Can we leave without this stuff blowing up?" Boyd asks, gesturing to the chemicals sitting around the room. His heart isn't beating as fast as Scott's, but it's going a lot faster than Scott's ever heard from him. Crap.

"I–" Scott starts to say, before he has to stop. "I don't know. Trish would…"

Scott looks at the door, dread settling onto his shoulders.

Boyd looks around, says, "It's probably fine," and claps a hand to Scott's shoulder. "Get your stuff. We're leaving."

"What about Trish?" Scott asks, even as he's gathering his things and stuffing his arms into his – Stiles' – jacket.

"We'll find the cop that's been tailing you. Report her missing." Boyd opens the lab door, sticking his head out into the hallway, looking and listening before he gestures for Scott to follow him.

Halfway down the hallway, Scott catches an odd scent. He grabs onto Boyd's arm to stop him and says, "Wait. I smell something weird."

Boyd gives Scott a look. "It's a chemistry building. Everything in here smells weird."

“Just–” Scott breaks away from Boyd in the direction of the smell. He gets a closer to it before Boyd cuts him off, putting his body in front of Scott’s. Scott hears the way Boyd’s heartbeat changes when he finally smells it. “Smell it? Blood.”

Boyd grimaces. “Yeah. And it’s fresh.” Boyd takes another few steps toward the smell, and Scott follows him.

They turn a corner and Boyd takes a sharp breath. He turns and pushes back at Scott, who barely has enough time to look around Boyd and see a body lying on the floor outside the restrooms, before Boyd pushes him back around the corner. “We have to get out of here.”

“Is that Trish?” Scott asks, matching Boyd’s strength, even though Boyd is bigger than him. “Boyd! I have to know!”

“You have to stay away from the crime scene!” Boyd insists, suddenly doing this maneuver that wraps Scott’s arms around his own body and pins them there.

Struggling, Scott cries, “We have to help her!”

“She’s dead,” Boyd insists, his arms still tight around Scott’s, keeping him trapped. “There’s nothing we can do, Scott. Come _on_!”

Scott realizes he’s crying at the same moment he realizes Boyd is right. It’s not going to do Trish any good if Scott stays and gets accused of her murder. “Ancestors alive,” he curses, gasping as Boyd’s hold keeps him from taking deep breaths, “who would have done that to her?”

“I don’t know,” Boyd says, turning them around and practically carrying Scott back the way they’d come. “But they might still–” Boyd gets cut off when they turn the corner toward the staircase and a cloud of bright purple wolfsbane dust hits Scott in the face. He blacks out almost instantly, before he can see who threw the powder at them.

 

 

~*~

Stiles has just shoved a piece of chicken in his mouth when this overwhelming feeling of dread washes over him, making him gasp. The gasp pulls the chicken back into his throat and Stiles gags, coughing up the food before gasping again at the momentary lack of air. “Holy shit.”

He’s sitting alone in his dad’s hotel room, waiting for the Sheriff to get back from a meeting with one of his old army buddies. Gilbert – Stiles isn’t sure if that’s first name or last – works in the San Francisco FBSI office now, and the Sheriff has been sharing information with him all week. Gilbert’s not _technically_ on the case, but he knows enough about what’s going on to make him useful.

All this means that Stiles’ dad isn’t here right now to tell Stiles what the hell this feeling means. Stiles has been a werewolf all his life, and the only thing that even comes close to feeling like this was the anxious feeling Stiles had which caused him to drive all the way up here from school.

“Shit,” Stiles says out loud, looking around for his phone and finding it on the nightstand between the two queen beds.

Picking up the phone, Stiles tries calling Scott. It goes to voicemail after the first ring. Either Scott is purposely ignoring Stiles – which he might be, he had some test or something this evening – or his phone is off. Dread still heavy in his gut, Stiles looks over his last few texts from Scott. Oh! He was supposed to be in a chemistry lab. That shouldn’t be too hard to find, right?

Stiles takes off, barely remembering to put on his shoes and grab the room key the Sheriff had given him the night before. He drives the twenty minutes to campus and parks on the street, using his phone to pull up a campus map. There’s a Chemistry building and a Chemistry Annex, but they’re right next to each other, so Stiles figures he can just follow his nose once he gets there.

Stiles leaves his car parked in the road (where it’s probably going to get towed) and runs into the building, searching for Scott.

It doesn’t feel like he’s here. Stiles can’t pick out Scott’s heartbeat, while usually he can. In fact, there’s only one heartbeat in the building, and it’s slow enough that Stiles gets highly concerned. Stiles starts to follow the sound of the heartbeat up a flight of stairs when he smells it – wolfsbane.

 _Ancestors keep me_ , Stiles prays as he covers his mouth and nose with his shirt and finishes climbing the stairs. At the top Stiles finds Boyd, passed out and almost completely covered with wolfsbane. There’s no sign of Scott.

It takes everything Stiles has to hold back the panic attack and try to deal with this while dealing with the fear that something very, very bad has happened to his mate.

Stiles thinks about nudging Boyd to try and wake him up, but he knows that he’d just be asking for wolfsbane poisoning himself if he were to do that. Cursing, Stiles jumps down the stairs four at a time, retreating to the fresh air outside and pulling his phone out of his pocket.

He starts dialing 911 before he pauses. Maybe he should call his dad first. Maybe he should call Talia. She’d want to know Scott’s bodyguard is lying unconscious and Scott appears to be missing. Then Stiles realizes that it’s not good for Boyd to be exposed to wolfsbane for very long, and he should call the authorities, who can send in a human clean-up crew.

After the ambulance arrives and Stiles directs them into the building and up the stairs, Stiles finally calls his dad. “What’s up, kiddo?”

“Dad?” Stiles asks, his voice cracking like it hasn’t in years.

“Oh, crap,” the Sheriff says, and his clothes rustle like he’s sitting down. “What is it?”

“Scott’s gone,” Stiles says, because he can’t think of any better way to put it. “Someone got the bodyguard Talia hired. Scott’s _gone_.”

The Sheriff’s phone rustles and there’s murmuring on the other end of the line, like the Sheriff covered the microphone with his hand, to keep Stiles from hearing the conversation. When he comes back, Stiles’ dad says, “Okay. I’ll contact Scott’s alpha. Gilbert is coming to you. You’re at Scott’s place?”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head. “Campus. Chemistry building, corner of…” Stiles looks up and walks closer to the road so he can see the street signs. “Hutchinson and California.”

The Sheriff sighs. “Okay. You hang tight, son. We’ll find him.”

“Alive,” Stiles adds, because he feels it’s necessary.

“Alive,” his dad agrees.

Stiles knows his dad is contacting Talia, but Stiles can’t just sit here and wait for Agent Gilbert to get to him. He has to do _something_ , and the only thing he _can_ do is call anyone else who might care that Scott’s missing. He starts with Derek, but Braeden picks up Derek’s phone.

Stiles tells her about the situation, waiting for a long silent moment before she says, “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“No, don’t do that,” Stiles insists. “It’s almost– You need your sleep!”

This time it’s Derek’s voice that comes over the phone connection. “Just go with it,” Derek says. “Braeden’s the absolute best at finding people. We’ll be there soon.”

“Fine,” Stiles replies, saying a quick goodbye before Derek hangs up on him.

Stiles doesn’t know _how_ to tell Scott’s mom that her son is missing, so he decides to split the difference between telling her and not telling either of Scott’s parents, by calling Agent McCall.

“Who is this?” he answers his phone almost as soon as it starts ringing.

Surprised, Stiles takes a moment before he can reply. “Stilinski,” he says, then amends his words. “The younger.”

“How did you get this number?” McCall demands, and Stiles can practically hear his threatened shift in his voice.

Ignoring McCall’s question, Stiles says, “Scott’s missing.”

“What?” The growl in McCall’s voice fades way to breathy concern. “What do you mean, missing?”

“He’s not where he’s supposed to be.” Stiles turns back toward the Chemistry building, watching the paramedics wheel Boyd out to the ambulance. “The wolf he was with got a heavy dose of ‘bane.” Stiles catches the trail end of a conversation, and watches as one of the police officers takes a body bag from the paramedics and brings it back into the building. “Oh, god. And someone got killed.”

“Is it Scott?”

Stiles focuses his attention on the conversations happening in the building, edging forward to help distinguish the sounds into words. “No,” Stiles finally says with a grin. “The victim’s female. Human.”

Voice dark and accusatory, McCall asks, “Did Scott do it?”

“No!” Stiles answers reflexively, because he knows Scott inside and out, even if he hasn’t known him for that long. Stiles knows Scott would never hurt an innocent person. Besides, Stiles is sure he can still feel Scott, he’s just not sure how he could possibly use that feeling, and it’s not like he’s going to ask Agent McCall for mate tips. Mostly he just knows that Scott is sad. Heartbroken.

Stiles wipes away a tear and tells Agent McCall, “Scott was last seen on campus. That’s where they took him from.”

McCall seems to hesitate, but eventually he says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Stiles replies, though he’s fairly certain McCall has already disconnected the call.

To pass the time while he’s waiting for Dad’s FBSI agent friend to show up, Stiles texts back and forth with Heather and Jackson, and he wishes he had Cora’s number, because he knows she’s somewhere on campus, and she’s Scott’s pack. She should know what’s going on.

Shit, Stiles wishes _he_ knew more about what’s going on.

 

 

~*~

Scott wakes up slowly, his head pounding worse than it ever has before. God, it hurts more than that time Derek accidentally round-kicked Scott in the jaw with his boots on. Holding back a whimper of pain, Scott forces his eyes open. He’s lying on a concrete floor, a line of mountain ash just in front to his nose. Scott knows the mountain ash must be closed in a circle, because he can feel the barrier making the hairs on his arm stand on end. The concrete under him makes Scott’s face ache with the cold and hardness of it. Groaning, Scott sits up.

At first Scott thought he was in a basement, but as he looks around, he realizes the space is too big. It’s more like a warehouse, the only light coming from a yellow bulb over a door about thirty yards away. Scott listens for more clues and he realizes the slow, steady noise he faintly picks up is a heartbeat. Shifting halfway, Scott uses his wolf night vision to search for the source of the heartbeat.

He finds it crouching in a corner at the far end of the warehouse, partially obscured by a shelf full of boxes. Calling out to the figure, Scott says, “Who’s there?”

The figure doesn’t move. Its heartbeat doesn’t change pace. Maybe the person is unconscious, despite the way they look like they’re sitting up.

Skin tingling at the feeling of the mountain ash circle around him, Scott stands up and calls out again. “Hello?”

The figure doesn’t move.

“Okay,” Scott mutters to himself. “That’s not creepy at all.” He turns away and looks around the warehouse, unable to see much besides dark windows and shelves full of boxes. He takes a breath, and smells mostly dust and cardboard. He thinks some rats might have lived in one of the corners far from the door with the light, but it doesn’t sound like they’re there now.

Scott decides to walk the perimeter of the mountain ash circle. He traces his hand along the barrier, even though it stings to touch, all the way around. The circle is only about ten feet across, and knowing how small it is suddenly makes Scott horribly claustrophobic.

He thinks about pressing against the barrier, testing its strength, even though he’s never heard of any werewolf being able to break a mountain ash line before. Before Scott can work up the will to do it, he hears footsteps approaching the building. A key jingles, scraping in the lock, and then the door opens.

A man steps into the warehouse, nothing more than a shadow before he flicks on the overhead lights. The change in light intensity makes Scott squint, and he shields his eyes with a hand so he can get a better look at the man.

Scott’s stomach drops when he realizes he recognizes the man. “Gerard.”

“Hello, Scott,” Allison’s grandfather drawls, the edges of his mouth turned down, even though the rest of his face looks vaguely like he’s smiling.

“I hear things have been going well for you. Went to that,” Gerard sneers with disgust, “ _mating_ retreat, did you?”

Scott has no idea how Gerard would know about that, unless he’s been asking around, and even then Scott doesn’t know who would possibly talk to Gerard. He’s a known anti-werewolf advocate. No werewolf would knowingly give him information, especially not about something as sacred as La Lune.

Deciding not to play into Gerard’s ploy to get him upset, Scott keeps his voice steady as he replies, “It was time to move on with my life.”

Gerard hums, skirting just outside the mountain ash barrier. Scott finds himself trying to mentally steer Gerard into the line, make him scuff it with his shoe and break it, so that Scott can escape. As hard as Scott thinks it, it doesn’t happen. “I’m glad to see you decided to stick with your own kind this time around. No more subjecting poor, innocent girls to your beastly ways.”

Scott thinks about letting Gerard know that his granddaughter, Allison, wasn’t nearly as “innocent” as Gerard would like to believe, but Scott still love Allison in a way, and he can’t bring himself to do that to her. Instead, he decides to ask Gerard, “Why did you bring me here?”

Still walking around the circle, Gerard chuckles. A figure, the figure from the corner, appears from the shadows, following Gerard as he moves. Now that the figure is in the light, Scott sees that it’s a man, probably a little older than his own father, though if Scott’s reading his motions right, he’s a werewolf, and visible age may mean next to nothing. Gerard asks, “Do you like my pet?”

It takes Scott a moment to realize Gerard is speaking to him, and not the werewolf following him. As the figure steps through the light, Scott notices that his eyes are clouded over. He’s blind. Scott has only ever heard of one werewolf who was blind.

“Deucalion?” Scott asks, fighting back the shiver he feels, looking at a man who’s supposed to be a ghost.

Gerard and his pet werewolf turn eerily similar grins at Scott. Voice rich, and with a British accent, the werewolf speaks. “He knows my name, Master. Smart boy to figure it out.”

“Yes,” Gerard replies, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “No wonder my granddaughter took a liking to you, Mr. McCall. Sweet and smart, like any girl would love to have.” Face contorting back toward smug victory, Gerard says, “It’s such a shame for you that you touched her.”

Scott furrows his brow, confused. “What do you mean?”

“There were a few you didn’t notice,” Gerard says with a false pout. “But then that poor boy on campus. Such a shame.”

Scott remembers viscerally trying to keep that man alive while the paramedics were on their way. His stomach lurches every time he remembers he wasn’t successful. “You did that.”

“ _I_ did that,” Deucalion corrects, a smug grin on his lips. “Such a fun little play thing. Too fragile.”

Furious, Scott pounds on the barrier between him and Deucalion. “Why? He was just a guy!”

“He was just too close to _you_.” Gerard slides between Deucalion and the mountain ash barrier, his face inches away from Scott’s. “Don’t you understand, Scott? Don’t you see how I had to show you what a danger you are to the people around you?”

“The only dangerous people here are you and your _lap dog_!” Scott cries, pounding on the barrier again. It hurts to do so, but Scott is too pissed off to care. He wants to tear them both to pieces for what they’ve done. Sight going red, Scott asks through sharp teeth, “And Trish?”

“Oh, she tasted _delightful_ ,” Deucalion says with a laugh.

Roaring, Scott throws himself at the barrier again. As Gerard and Deucalion start to walk away, Scott cries after them, “You’re not going to get away with this. The police are going to find you!”

Gerard and Deucalion laugh again, leaving the warehouse and turning off the light as they go.

It makes his bones ache and his skin crackle, but Scott pounds at the barrier. He doesn’t care that it’s impossible for him to break it. All Scott wants to do is use his grief to destroy anything he can get his hands on.

He bets Gerard knew he would respond like this. He bets Gerard’s hoping Scott will tear himself apart and do the work for him. Scott decides never to give Gerard that gift. No, Scott’s not going to become destructive. He’s not going to claw at his skin until it stops healing. He’s not going to bite his own tongue off or rend his clothes or try to break his own neck, like some werewolves have done while trapped in mountain ash.

Scott’s not going to give Gerard any of those things.

He doesn’t deserve them.

Instead, Scott pushes at the mountain ash circle, first steadily, and then with all the strength he can muster. It seems like he pushes forever, his muscles shaking and his breath coming in harsh gasps, before the lash-back of the barrier overpowers Scott and he flies back, landing with barely enough time to keep his skull from cracking against the concrete floor.

Scott sighs, and tells himself he needs to rest for just a minute. He’ll try the barrier again in a minute.

 

 

~*~

When the Sheriff’s FBSI friend Gilbert finished interviewing Stiles, he was ordered to go home and go to bed. Stiles laughs in Gilbert’s face, and then is politely, but firmly, escorted from the area surrounding the Chemistry building.

That’s fine. It’s fine. Scott’s not in there anyway.

Instead of going back to his dad’s hotel, Stiles goes to Scott’s apartment and lets himself in with the extra key he had made while Scott was in class. Just in case, Stiles looks around. Stiles can't hear any heartbeats, except those coming from the other apartments in the building. Scott's apartment is empty, though it smells like him.

Stiles smells traces of Boyd's scent, and more faintly, his own, but it's Scott's scent that makes Stiles start to cry.

He kicks off his shoes, stumbles onto the bed, and buries himself in Scott's scent. Stiles prays to every Ancestor he can think of, even Scott's human ancestors. Someone has to be able to help bring Scott back.

Stiles doesn't think he's going to be able to fall asleep, but being around Scott's scent and his things comforts Stiles. He falls asleep clutching Scott's pillow.

 

 

~*~

It seems like everyone is already there. Stiles' Dad greets him with a long, sympathetic hug. Boyd stands in one corner, holding an ice pack to his head, which is weird until Stiles realizes the wolfsbane is probably preventing Boyd from healing. Cora, Derek, and Braeden are standing near the middle of the room, talking to Talia and Scott's mom. Even Scott's dad is there, speaking to a woman Stiles doesn't recognize, but must be the Kira person whose name is on the door since she's sitting at the desk.  

"So," Stiles says loudly when his dad lets him go, "what's the plan?" All the eyes in the room turn toward Stiles and suddenly he feels a little too powerful for comfort. "I mean, how are we going to find Scott?"

The woman behind the desk stands up, trips a little as she rounds it, and sticks out her hand. "Stiles, is it? I'm Kira, and I'm _so_ sorry about what's happened to your mate. If I thought he was in danger of anything other than false accusations, I would've put more than one bodyguard on Scott's case." She gives Boyd an apologetic since, which he waves off with a shrug.

Before Stiles can finish shaking Kira's hand and respond, Agent McCall stands up, cocking his head to one side, and asks, "Mate? _You're_ my son's mate? Oh, Ancestors alive!"

"Agent McCall," the Sheriff says tersely, his alpha power flooding the room in a way that's comforting to Stiles, but probably agitating as hell to all the other werewolves. "Your son has been _kidnapped_. Let's focus on that fact."

Agent McCall scoffs again, saying, "If Scott had still been in _my_ pack–"

"Oh, can it, Rafael," Melissa says, her face stern and calm, but her heartbeat as fast as hell. "If Scott had still been living under your roof, there's no way he would've made the grades he needed to get into college. Now shut up and focus on how we find Scott."

After a brief silence, Talia speaks up, walking toward Stiles as she does. "Local law enforcement and the FBSI are tracking down their leads, but–” She sighs and winces in Melissa’s direction. “Currently they’re treating Scott as their prime suspect.”

“Still?” Stiles cries, moving toward Talia until the Sheriff puts a comforting hand on him, gently holding him back. “How do they even think that?”

In the corner, Boyd scoffs. “Cops heard what they wanted to hear when I talked to them.”

“But…” Stiles calms, his heartbeat slowing as the Sheriff puts a heavy hand on the back of his neck. Stiles turns to his dad, saying, “There was so much wolfsbane in the building. I couldn’t even get close enough to check–” He nods at Boyd. “And they think _Scott_ was able to handle that much ‘bane in the air and somehow escape the building?”

“Prevailing theory,” Braden says, pressing her lips together and giving Agent McCall a harsh side-eye, “is that Scott used a gas mask.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Where would Scott even get a gas mask? He’s not some, some criminal _mastermind_!”

“They have them in the chemistry building,” Kira says gently. “For cleaning up spills. I’m sorry, Stiles. They’re building quite a case against Scott.”

It’s only his alpha’s hand at his neck that keeps Stiles from yelling at Kira, effectively shooting her for being the messenger. His head kept clear, Stiles is able to push down his fury and instead ask, “What do we need to do?”

“We need another suspect,” the Sheriff says, squeezing Stiles’ neck and giving him a weary smile.

“And we need to find Scott first,” Braeden says. “Otherwise, well–” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t think the authorities are exactly looking to bring Scott in _alive_.” Stiles has known that Scott’s life might be in danger, the dread seeping into his entire body has seen to that. Now that someone’s said it out loud, however, it makes the possibility that much more real. Stiles’ knees tremble. “No,” he says, reaching for the Sheriff, to help keep him upright. “No, we have to find him.”

“We’ll find him,” the Sheriff says, leading Stiles to a chair and practically pushing him down into it. “We’re his pack, Stiles. We’ll find him.”

The logical part of Stiles’ brain wants to argue that the Sheriff and Talia are both alphas, so they can’t be part of the same pack, and Agent McCall doesn’t belong to either of them. Still, Stiles understands his father’s meaning. Everyone in the room cares about what happens to Scott. It’s a small comfort, at least.

“Where do we start?”

“I tracked his scent,” Cora says, brightly at first before her face falls. “I lost it at I-80.”

“So did the agents,” McCall says, shaking his head. “Our best tracker says she thinks they were heading west, but she can’t be sure.”

Stiles shakes his head, thinking about all the open space he passed on the drive up here. “He could be anywhere. Even if we were to do a sweep…” Stiles shakes his head.

“That’s why we usually rely on witnesses, maybe image tracking software, if surveillance cameras are an option. There’s frustratingly few of them around here.” Braeden looks over to Derek and, keeping Derek’s gaze, nods her head at Stiles. “You want to work him through the mate bond angle?”

Derek nods, and starts walking toward Stiles, but Agent McCall stops him. “Seriously? There’s no way my son and this … this _boy_ have a mate bond strong enough for that!”

Stiles wants to ask for what, but short on sleep and frayed at the edges with worry, Stiles loses his temper. He shoots to his feet and gets in Agent McCall’s face. “Fuck you, and your Ancestors,” Stiles says, his vision going red and his fangs poking against his lips. “Scott is _my_ mate. _Mine_! I don’t care if it disgusts you or what, but I’m not going to let some mangy, deadbeat excuse for a werewolf shit on what he and I have. Either shut up and help or fucking _leave_!”

Stiles stands there, panting with rage and staring down Agent McCall. The muscle in McCall’s jaw works and his eyes flash as he doesn’t back down. Stiles is itching for a fight, and he hopes to hell McCall gives it to him. He’d like nothing more than to tear the guy apart with his claws and his teeth. Distantly, he hears Talia say quietly, “John, control your beta.”

The Sheriff sniffs and says in a wry voice, “Nah, I’m good.”

The wave of righteousness that washes over Stiles at his alpha’s approval must show in his face, because suddenly McCall looks down and away from Stiles. He addresses John, saying, “I’ll keep you updated,” and then escapes the room.

“Ha!” Stiles says to McCall’s retreating back. He reigns in his other side, taking a deep, slow breath and shifting back. His vision clears and he realizes everyone is staring at him. Kira looks like she might be about to pee herself, Talia looks like she’s working up a good lecture about control, while most of the others are smirking. Melissa’s hiding a smile behind her hand, her eyes sparkling at Stiles. Clearing his throat, Stiles says, “Uh, sorry about that.”

Dad claps a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, squeezing it and helping Stiles finish calming down. “You gonna be okay if I go with McCall? I want to make sure he’s asking his FBSI contacts the right questions.”

Stiles pats his dad’s wrist and nods. “Yeah. I’m fine. He just–” Stiles clenches his jaw and swallows the remains of his fury. “Just _pisses_ me off, you know?”

“Understandable,” the Sheriff says, giving Stiles a quick hug before he waves his goodbye to the others and leaves to catch up with Agent McCall.

“Alright, everyone,” Talia says, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get back to work.”

While the others make phone calls and trace down leads on their computers, Derek leads Stiles out of the room and into what looks like a break room for all the lawyers in Kira’s practice. He motions for Stiles to sit on the couch and then takes a seat backwards in one of the chairs around the little lunch table. “So,” Derek says, folding his arms over the backrest. “The mate bond.”

“I thought that was a myth,” Stiles says, though he knows he’s been wanting to put that name on what he’s been feeling lately. “That’s why I left school, isn’t it?”

Derek nods. “It’s real. Usually it takes years to form.”

“Scott and I have only been together three months.” Stiles grins to himself. “We’re just that awesome together, I guess.”

“Or it was all the sex you two were having this summer.” Derek raises one of his eyebrows, which makes Stiles laugh.

Stiles kicks out at Derek’s foot with a scoff. “Like you and Braeden weren’t, Papa Wolf.”

Derek ducks his head and blushes, but he’s smiling, and Stiles takes a minute to bask in a little bit of happy news before he turns back to thoughts about Scott.

“So, how do we do this?”

“The bond is kind of … _difficult_ to explain,” Derek says, scratching fingers through the hair on his right cheek. “It’s like something you can’t see unless you’re not looking at it.”

“Okay, Mr. Miyagi,” Stiles replies, rolling his eyes. Then, he remembers how he found Scott’s apartment. He might have found it because he’d been there once and he was subconsciously remembering landmarks, but Stiles doesn’t think that was it. He sighs and then tells Derek, “I’ve done it before. Found Scott using the bond.”

Derek nods, though his scent turns vaguely surprised. “Try laying down and closing your eyes.”

It’s a weird request, so Stiles gives Derek a suspicious look, but he follows orders. Once his eyes are closed, he asks, “Now what?”

“Focus on Scott,” Derek says. “His scent, his face…” Derek clears his throat. “Whatever it is about him that you love the most.”

“So I should focus on his butt?” Stiles asks before he can stop himself. This is serious. Scott’s in danger. He might even be dead, and somehow Stiles can’t stop making jokes. He wants to punch himself in the face. “Sorry. Nevermind.”

Derek’s voice is gentle as he says, “Just focus.”

Stiles decides to concentrate on Scott’s smile, and the remnants of his scent on Stiles’ clothes. He breathes deeply, and tries to follow that feeling in his stomach that he knows is Scott. His body grows heavy and his breaths more and more shallow. He thinks it would be funny if he were to fall asleep while trying to do this.

Stiles is in a maze. The walls are concrete and there’s dirt and roots dripping from the ceiling. He thinks he hears a voice – an important voice – and with his heart in his throat, Stiles runs toward it. There’s one portion of the wall marked with a spiraling symbol, and Stiles hears pounding and yelling from the other side.

“Scott?” he cries, pounding back on the wall. “Scott!”

“Stiles!” Scott calls back. “I can’t get out!”

Stiles feels like he can’t breathe, like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. “Then let me in!”

Scott repeats himself, his voice exactly the same as before. “Stiles! I can’t get out!”

“I said let me in!” Stiles calls back, pushing as hard as he can on the heavy concrete wall. He chips away at the surface of the wall, but even he isn’t strong enough to get through it. “Scotty! Scott!”

“Stiles! I can’t get out!”

Stiles kicks the wall with the bottom of his foot, the way his dad taught him to take down doors. “No! Say something else, for the love of the Ancestors, say something else!” Stiles stops kicking and drops to his knees, tears wet and hot on his cheeks. “Scott!”

This time, Scott says, “Please! I can’t get out!”

Stiles wakes up with a start, half-shifted with Derek holding him down. “Oh, my god!”

“Stiles! It’s okay!” Derek cries, holding Stiles down until he stops struggling and takes a deep breath.

When Derek lets him, Stiles sits up and puts his head in his hands. “I fell asleep, didn’t I?”

“You saw something.”

“It was a nightmare,” Stiles insists, batting away Derek’s hand when it hovers near Stiles’ arm.

Derek sits back on his heels, looking up at Stiles. “That doesn’t mean it’s untrue, Stiles.”

A flicker of hope fights its way through Stiles’ fear. He takes a good look at Derek’s face, listens to his heartbeat, and sniffs at the air between them, trying to expose the lie. He doesn’t find it. “The mate bond.”

Derek nods. “Did you see where he was?”

“It didn’t make any sense,” Stiles insists, thinking about the wall he should’ve been able to knock down, but couldn’t. “He just kept telling me he was trapped.”

“Trapped where?”

Shaking his head, Stiles says, “I don’t know. I don’t know!”

“It’s okay,” Derek tells him, catching Stiles’ gaze. “Just hold onto that feeling. I’ll drive.”

Stiles doesn’t think it’s going to work, but he doesn’t know what else to do, so he shrugs and follows Derek from the room.

 

 

~*~

By the time light starts filtering into the warehouse from the windows near the ceiling, Scott’s been trying to break the mountain ash barrier for hours. The skin on his hands is starting to grow raw, barely healing at all each time he pulls away from the barrier to take a break and catch his breath. Scott doesn’t care how futile his efforts might be, because it’s better than doing nothing.

Eventually, the warehouse door opens again. Scott has no idea what time it is, but it’s still light out. It feels like he’s been here much longer than a day, rather than less than one. Gerard comes into the warehouse, a rifle in his arms.

That’s it, Scott thinks. Allison’s grandfather is going to shoot him like a fish in a barrel, just for the crime of falling in love. It doesn’t even matter anymore. Allison isn’t Scott’s mate, Stiles is. Why would Gerard do this, when he already got what he wanted when he made Allison break Scott’s heart?

Scott realizes he’s listing, so he stands up straighter and asks, “What are you doing?”

Gerard’s gaze flicks down to the gun before he smiles at Scott. “It’s my own special formulation. Wolfsbane-spiked tranquilizer. You’re going to have a nice nap.”

Scott watches as Gerard levels the gun at him. His heartbeat picks up just before he pulls the trigger, giving Scott a fraction of a second to dodge out of the way. A dart sails over Scott’s shoulder and out the other side of the mountain ash circle.

Gerard tilts his head in acknowledgement, then reaches for something from his pocket. He uncaps another dart and slides it into the rifle, engaging it. He lifts the rifle and Scott gets ready to dodge again. When Gerard’s heartbeat changes, Scott dodges, but instead of firing the dart, Gerard takes a hand gun out of its holster and fires into the mountain ash circle again and again.

With the sound of the shots bouncing off the walls of the warehouse, Scott can’t even begin to guess how many he dodges before one hits him in the shoulder. Another tears through his chest, before one last one hits his neck. Scott tries to stay standing, but it hurts too much. He can’t move one of his arms and every breath is agony.

Scott stumbles, falling to his knees, and that’s when Gerard lifts the dart rifle and shoots it, hitting Scott’s flank dead-on. The sharp prick of the needle and pressure of the drug being delivered into his muscle make Scott cry out.

Everything is silent for a moment, and then Scott starts to feel the effects of the drug. He tries to get up onto his knees, but he can barely feel the concrete floor under his fingers. The world around him spins and Scott feels himself start to shift. His growls morph into a roar when he realizes that Gerard has broken the mountain ash line, but Scott can’t move. He can’t even crawl out of the circle now that it’s broken.

Gerard looks down at Scott, batting away Scott’s clumsy attempt to rake his claws into Gerard’s leg. “As filthy as you are, I can see why my granddaughter liked you, Scott.”

Scott coughs against the blood filling his lungs. “Just get it over with.”

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you, Scott,” Gerard says, wincing when Scott coughs again and a fleck of it almost hits his face. “I’m going to let the criminal justice system of this fine country do that for me.”

Just before Scott loses consciousness, he hears someone else come into the warehouse. He turns his head, hopeful that it’s someone come to his rescue. It’s Deucalion carrying a large bundle. Scott’s eyes get too heavy for him to keep them open any longer and he slips away.

When Scott wakes up, it’s with his claws digging into the cement underneath him, and a growl in his throat. His vision is tinted red. There’s a heartbeat close by and Scott turns toward it. The figure burns hot as it – she – scrambles back and hits the barrier, unable to pass through it. She smells afraid and all of Scott’s instincts are telling him to pounce, to rip her to shreds and eat her.

Shuddering, Scott shakes his head. There’s something wrong with him, and he needs to get his instincts under control. “Hold _still_!” Scott barks at the girl, which makes her give a startled shriek. Closing his eyes, Scott puts his hands up, palms toward her. “Just–” he says, slurring around his fangs. “The calmer you are, the better.”

“You want me to be _calm_?” She cries, stinking of fear. She brushes against the barrier again, flinching away from it. She must not be human. “I’m trapped in here with a psychotic werewolf!”

“I’m not psychotic!” Scott takes one deep breath, and then another. There’s something in his system that makes it difficult for him to shift back, but he forces himself to do it anyway. “There. Okay?”

His wolf feels like it’s simmering just under the surface, but the girl’s eyes aren’t quite so wide and her heartbeat starts to slow as she nods. “Okay.”

Scott thinks about asking her who she is and how she got here, but he also feels like his control is too tenuous to bother. What if he does end up slipping and hurting her? Knowing her name is only going to make the guilt worse. It’s what he tells himself, anyway, as he goes back to pushing on the wall of the mountain ash circle.

 

 

~*~

Stiles rides in the back seat of Braeden and Derek’s SUV, closing his eyes and blocking out their voices as they murmur to each other. Despite Derek’s earlier assertion, Braeden is the one driving them around Sacramento, following Stiles’ vague directions.

There’s a tug in Stiles’ chest whenever he focuses on Scott and the more they drive, the stronger it gets. Stiles hopes that means he’s getting closer to Scott, and not just getting more and more panicked. He doesn’t want to rip up Braeden’s car the way he did to his dad’s cruiser in the hours after his mother was killed. Stiles counts himself lucky that the Sheriff understood his grief and didn’t take the damages out of his allowance.

Stiles doesn’t ever want to experience that again. He wasn’t with his mother when she was killed, but he remembers the way the Sheriff brought her body back to the pack, her corpse stinking of a rare strain of wolfsbane and riddled with bullet holes. The Sheriff never found the anti-werewolf activists who hunted her down, and Stiles gets this sinking feeling that history is repeating itself.

He only hopes he’ll be able to reach Scott quicker than the Sheriff reached his wife.

And yet, Stiles can’t regret meeting Scott. He can’t regret letting his heart make the decision to pursue Scott, and he can’t regret leaving school to make sure his mate is safe. He just doesn’t have it in him.

The tugging in Stiles’ chest starts to wander to the side, so he opens his eyes and tells Braeden, “Right soon.”

“Right,” she says, driving through an industrial part of town. The smell of the river fades away as they drive and suddenly, Stiles thinks he must be hallucinating, because he smells Scott. Rolling down his window, Stiles sticks his head out of the car and takes deep, gulping breaths, trying to catch the scent again.

A driver waiting at a stop sign as they pass through the intersection in front of her gives Stiles a very confused look. Stiles doesn’t care, because he catches the barest whiff of Scott on the air. Shouting back into the car, Stiles cries, “Go right again!”

Braeden shrugs and drives up to the next intersection (which is too far down the road for Stiles’ liking), before she turns. After they turn, Scott’s scent just gets stronger and stronger. “Can’t you smell it?”

Stiles has to hold on as Braeden pulls over next to a long length of hedging with a fence buried in the bushes. “I smell him,” she says, killing the engine and hopping out of the car. Stiles is half a second after her, and then Derek follows. As Braeden’s looking around the corner at a guard booth with more than one armed guard. “’Bane bullets,” she says with a frown.

Derek grabs Braeden’s wrist and says, “Maybe you should stay with the car.”

“Maybe I should _what_?” Braeden demands, turning on her husband. Stiles takes a quick breath as he watches Derek suddenly go pale.

Still, Derek stands his ground and says, “You can’t get hurt.”

“I won’t,” Braeden insists.

Stiles isn't at all surprised that when Derek grabs Braeden's arm, she ends up flipping him over her shoulder and cocked hip. Derek lands with his ass on the ground. He rolls his eyes like he's unsurprised, but keeps his mouth shut as he picks himself up.

"C'mon," Braeden says to Stiles, pulling him with her toward the hedge. "We'll go through the fence here, closest to this building."

Stiles watches as Braeden ducks into the foliage, tears back the chain link fence, and steps back again. Stiles is first through the hole, Derek behind him, and Braeden bringing up the rear.

Stiles sneaks to the edge of the building, catching whiffs of Scott's scent here and there on the air. He's fairly certain Scott isn't in the building Stiles has his hand pressed against. There's another building across the way that seems more promising. There's also a stupid number of armed guards around.

"Bane bullets," Braeden whispers with a grimace.

Derek looks out past them and then ducks behind the building again. "We're sure Scott's in that building?"

"Yeah," Stiles says without hesitation. Now that he's here, he can feel Scott's presence in his bones. Stiles thinks he might even be able to hear Scott's too-fast heartbeat. "How are we going to–"

Stiles is cut off by a loud, desperate howl. Scott's howl.

Before he knows he's moved forward, Derek and Braeden pull Stiles back. Stiles struggles to get them to let go, saying, "That's Scott! He needs me!"

While Derek holds Stiles' arms tight against his sides, Braeden gets directly in Stiles' face. "Listen to me! Scott doesn't need you to get yourself killed. We can call for help."

Stiles stares at Braeden because though he understands what she's saying intellectually, he wouldn't have thought she'd be the one to say it. Licking his lips nervously, Stiles asks, "Who do we call?"

Derek lets go of Stiles' arms as Braeden says, "Call your dad. I'll call my contacts. Derek, call your mother, tell her to get in contact with Agent McCall, since he has pull with the FBSI. Tell everyone they're using illegal 'bane bullets."

Stiles presses his back against the building keeping them safe and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He takes a deep breath and then calls in the cavalry.

 

 

~*~

"You're going to hurt yourself!" the girl cries, approaching Scott, but staying just out of arm's reach. "Stop!"

Scott ignores her and keeps pushing at the barrier. He's got this anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he swears he can hear Stiles' heartbeat. Scott keeps pushing, because he knows that if he doesn't break through, he's never going to see Stiles again.

"Stop!" The girl cries, inching closer to Scott, but still keeping her distance.

Arms straining, Scott gives the barrier one last push, and still it doesn't break. He huffs and staggers back, getting down onto his knees and sitting back on his heels. He eyes the girl and says, "You're not a werewolf. Why can't you break it?"

Sniffing, she throws her red hair back over one shoulder and crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm not human, that's for sure."

Scott waits for her to elaborate, but she doesn't. Instead her eyes start to water, enough that she has to look up and blink to keep them from brimming over. Scott can't stand sitting there, watching someone cry. He's still feeling the effects of whatever drug they gave him. Without focusing on the barrier, it gets harder and harder not to lash out. Scott's not the kind of werewolf who lashes out. He won't let himself be.

To distract both of them, Scott asks, "What's your name?"

"Lydia," she replies, carefully letting herself down to sit on the concrete floor. "What's yours?"

"Scott."

Lydia nods, resting her chin on her knees and wrapping her arms around her legs. "Do you know where we are?"

Scott shakes his head. "I mean, I think we're still in Northern California. The air smells right, and –"

" _Northern_ California?" Lydia's eyes flare wide, and then she closes them tightly. "Oh no, oh no!"

“What?” Scott asks, listening to Lydia’s heart take off again. “Why is that wrong?”

“Last I remember, I was in San Diego,” she says, wiping a tear from under her eye hastily, like she’s annoyed to be crying.

Scott opens his mouth to Lydia how she thinks she got here and what else she remembers, but he’s cut off by a howl coming from outside the building. “Stiles!” Scott cries, confused when Lydia gasps, “Stiles,” at the exact same time.

The implication hits Scott like a ton of bricks. Lydia knows Stiles. This is Stiles’ Lydia. Gerard was trying to get Scott to kill _Stiles’_ Lydia!

Stiles howls again and Scott realizes he’s shifted without meaning to, his breath in sharp, labored pants. Lydia’s bright in his red vision and Scott stomps down on the urge to attack her. Lydia’s not a threat. Stiles likes Lydia. Someone else is hurting Stiles.

There’s still this damn barrier in the way.

With a return howl that borders on a roar the longer it goes on, Scott pushes on the barrier again. He puts all of his strength and all of his will into pressing against that barrier. Nothing is unbreakable. Not if you try hard enough. Either the barrier is going to break or Scott is going to, and Scott won’t let it be him, because _Stiles needs him_.

Scott feels a warm rush of power through his body, pushing his muscles beyond what they’re normally capable of. He feels his face change shape, not back to human, but to something that feels more feral, more dangerous.

With a crack and a flash of light, the mountain ash barrier breaks open, spilling Scott onto the concrete floor beyond. Lydia shrieks, and the sound makes Scott want to attack, but he manages to hold himself back and turn his fury outward. He has to find out who’s hurting Stiles, and hurt them instead.

Scott races to the door of the warehouse, but before he can get there, Deucalion steps inside, baring his teeth at Scott. Scott barrels at him with a roar, and Deucalion’s eyes go wide. Something distracts him enough that he barely gets a chance to block Scott’s swipe at him.

Scott follows one blow with another and then a kick, silently thanking Talia for making him practice so much with her betas. Deucalion recovers, blocking Scott’s next hit, catching Scott’s wrist in his hand and squeezing it almost to crushing before Scott can punch his ribs and get his arm back. The pain doesn’t fade the way it would if he were fighting Derek, who’s about the same size as Deucalion, and that throws Scott, making him too slow to fully avoid Deucalion’s claws raking across his face.

Scampering back to regroup, Scott realizes his wounds aren’t healing as fast as they should because Deucalion is an alpha. Before Scott can fully process this revelation, Deucalion moves lightning-quick toward Lydia. Rage propels Scott’s feet and he throws himself between the two of them, locking his teeth down around Deucalion’s shoulder. Blood wells up into Scott’s mouth and Deucalion roars, throwing Scott off, even though it means ripping Scott’s teeth through his flesh.

Scott rolls through his landing, standing up and launching himself back at Deucalion. For an alpha, he’s moving remarkably slowly, and his bitten arm hangs, barely moving as Deucalion braces for Scott’s attack. A quick feint throws Deucalion off balance long enough for Scott to take Deucalion’s legs out from under him. Wrenching Deucalion’s injured arm behind his back makes him cry out and stop struggling.

“Do it,” Deucalion says, his voice lilting musically, like he finds this funny. “Kill me, Scott.”

Scott’s stomach turns at the very idea of taking a life, especially like this, when his would-be victim has already been beaten. Instead of fitting his teeth around the back of Deucalion’s neck and breaking it, Scott slams Deucalion’s head against the concrete floor. Deucalion goes still, his heartbeat slowing.

In the corner of his eye, Scott sees movement and hears heavier footsteps than Lydia’s. He turns to face the threat and instead sees Lydia bringing something down onto Gerard’s head. His eyes go glassy and he turns to face Lydia, who shrieks and scuttles away from Gerard, running toward Scott. Scott notices Gerard reaching for a gun, and in an instant, he’s at Gerard’s side, throwing the weapon away from him and punching him so hard he flies back, his head hitting the concrete behind him with a sickening thud.

“Shit,” Scott whispers, crawling over to Gerard’s prone form. His breath is ragged, but his heartbeat is strong and he doesn’t seem to be bleeding. Deucalion, on the other hand…

Lydia carefully touches Scott’s shoulder, and says, “We should tie them up. That other one could wake up any second.”

Scott focuses on Gerard as he nods, realizing that if they don’t tie these two up, there’s almost nothing to keep them from tracking Scott and Lydia down and dragging them back. Or worse, they could help whoever’s hurting Stiles. It hurts not to run to his mate, but Scott knows this is better. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” He looks up at Lydia, sure his eyes give away how utterly terrified he feels. “Can you find something?”

Nodding, Lydia jogs away, her bare feet slapping against the concrete as she moves.

It occurs to Scott that it will probably be easier to tie them up together. He crosses back over and grabs Deucalion under the arms, dragging him back toward Gerard with a close ear on Deucalion’s heartbeat just in case he wakes up. Deucalion’s shoulder is still a ruined, bloody mess and Scott has to swallow against the reflex to gag at the sight of it. He tells himself he’ll have to get used to seeing injuries like this when he’s a doctor, and that helps a little.

Lydia comes back with an industrial-sized spool of twine, handing it over to Scott. She takes a quick breath like she’s going to say something, but presses her lips together instead.

“What?” Scott asks, wrapping the twine first around Deucalion’s wrists. It’s going to take a lot of twine to hold in an alpha werewolf, even if he is injured. Lydia doesn’t respond, so Scott looks up at her and raises his eyebrows.

“Your eyes,” she says, licking her lips nervously.

Frowning, Scott asks, “What about them?” He looks down at his work and decides he needs to wrap the twine at least a dozen more times. Deucalion won’t exactly complain about cut-off circulation while he’s unconscious.

“They’re _red_.” Lydia puts a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, like she wishes she hadn’t said anything.

Confused, Scott looks down at Deucalion. His heart is beating strongly. He’s breathing. “He’s not dead. How…”

Shaking her head, Lydia says, “They turned red before.”

“Before?”

Deciding he can figure out what’s going on later, because he needs to get this done and get out to Stiles, Scott turns back to what he’s doing. He wraps up Deucalion as best he can and is halfway through tying up Gerard when quick footsteps approach the building.

Standing up to face this new threat, Scott hears them call out, “POLICE! EVERYONE ON THE GROUND!”

He’s still processing the information when a loud bang and a bright flash of light disorient him. He thinks fast enough to get his hands up and start kneeling before the police start to swarm into the building, their footsteps echoing around his muffled hearing and their forms blurry.

A police officer, human by her smell, pushes Scott the rest of the way down to the ground, snapping mountain-ash cuffs around his wrists. They feel flimsy, almost, and Scott wonders if the feeling has anything to do with his eyes.

“Is Stiles okay?” Scott asks her, turning his head so he can see her face better. He can’t see much behind the protective goggles. “Stiles Stilinski? Did you find him?”

“Get down!” the police officer replies, shoving the back of Scott’s head toward the ground. It reminds Scott of what he did to Deucalion, but seems horribly ineffective in comparison. Even with his hands cuffed behind his back, Scott knows he could easily get free. He doesn’t make a move, though, because it’s been drilled into Scott’s head never to give a human cop a reason to dose him with ‘bane.

Other SWAT-looking cops take Lydia into custody and check on Gerard and Deucalion. A commotion at the door draws everyone’s attention, and Stiles bursts through the crowd, skidding to a stop at Scott’s side. He brushes away the police officer, turns Scott onto his side and presses a desperate kiss to Scott’s lips.

Scott returns the kiss greedily, relieved beyond imagining that Stiles is whole and safe. He tugs at the cuffs behind his back and they separate, allowing him to wrap his arms around Stiles and squeeze him as hard as Scott dares.

When Stiles pulls back, he cries, “Oh, my god. I was so scared! But I _found_ you! I found you, Scott!”

“Are you okay?” Scott asks, sitting up and pressing his hand to the side of Stiles’ face. “I heard your howl.”

“Distraction!” Stiles replies with a grin, kissing Scott again, practically crawling into his lap. “Derek saw Argent coming in here and I just _had_ to do something.”

“Smart,” Scott says with a laugh, burying his face in Stiles’ shoulder. “You found me?”

“I did.” Stiles presses a kiss to Scott’s temple. “Oh. What’s Lydia doing here?”

“Gerard,” Scott says, explaining how he was dosed and meant to kill Lydia. “I didn’t, though,” Scott insists, meeting Stiles’ eyes plaintively. “I would never hurt anyone, especially not your friends.”

“My friends can be assholes,” Stiles replies with a chuckle, but then he ducks closer and whispers, “I know you wouldn’t, Scotty.”

A werewolf wearing a badge on a chain around his neck approaches them and says, “Up. C’mon, up. We’ve got to take McCall in.”

"What? No!" Stiles cries and Scott gets the sickening feeling Stiles is about to start fighting. "You can't take him."

"Stiles," Scott says, putting a little power behind his voice.

Stiles freezes, mouth dropped open in surprise. His hand drifts up, pointing at Scott, and he says, "You..."

"...will be fine." Scott finishes Stiles' sentence, keeping his eyes locked with Stiles'. "Lydia will tell them what happened. It'll be fine." Scott lets the guy with the badge lead him out of the warehouse.

The air outside is the cool and damp of the early morning and though Scott may not technically be a free wolf at the moment, he certainly feels like one.

He takes a deep breath, pausing for a moment when Stiles calls after them, "I'm calling Alpha Hale and her lawyer friend!"

Scott doesn't know if this information was for his benefit, or for the police officer escorting him to a car, but the officer's scent spikes with a touch of anxiety. Scott holds back his smile, though he does nod at Braeden and Derek when he passes them.

Scott gets in the police car too relieved and run down to worry about what might happen next. He broke through a mountain ash barrier all on his own. After that, anything seems possible.

 

 

~*~

Stiles bites the extra skin beside his thumbnail as he waits. The FBSI guys won’t let him past the reception area, even though they let Talia in. He knows he shouldn’t worry, that Kira arranged for Scott to be released without charges now that Gerard’s goons confessed to everything, but he still has this anxious feeling that something’s going to go wrong.

“What’s taking so long?” Stiles asks the receptionist, who rolls her eyes and gives Dad a look, like she’s expecting him to control Stiles somehow. Sure, Dad’s the alpha, but that doesn’t mean he _controls_ Stiles like some sort of pet. God, sometimes Stiles swears humans don’t know anything about werewolves.

“Just, come sit down, son,” Dad says.

Stiles frowns at him. The humans aren’t going to learn if they play into their misguided stereotypes.

Dad sighs, then says, “Please? You’re giving me a headache.”

Dad knows very well Stiles knows werewolves don’t get headaches, but Stiles also knows it’s more of a metaphorical headache than anything. He goes and sits in the chair next to his father.

“My mate is an alpha,” he says, the same way he’s been saying it for the past twelve hours, like he can’t quite believe it.

“Apparently,” Dad replies. He sets a hand on Stiles’ bouncing knee, stilling it.

“Dad, Scott’s an _alpha_ , but he didn’t take anyone’s power.” Stiles rubs his face with one hand. “God, this is gonna bug the crap out of me. It shouldn’t happen.”

Dad gives Stiles a side-long look. “Really? Son, we magically change into half-human, half-canine creatures. The list of things that _can’t_ happen is pretty small.”

“Pretty small, huh?” Stiles scoffs. “I can think of about a thousand–”

Dad cuts him off. “You’re young. You haven’t seen everything yet.”

Stiles watches Dad’s face for a moment, staring into his clear eyes sitting in his weary face. “Yeah, you’re getting pretty old, aren’t you, Pops?”

“Not so old I can’t kick your–”

The door beside the receptionist opens, making Stiles jump to his feet, eager to see Scott. The first person out of the door is Talia, and for a second Stiles worries that they’ve decided to keep Scott longer and he’s about ready to start fighting his way to Scott.

And Scott appears.

Smile so bright Stiles feels blinded, Scott pushes past Talia and throws himself at Stiles. Stiles catches Scott as best he can, staggering back half a step and throwing his arms around Scott’s middle. “Scotty,” he breathes.

“Hi,” Scott replies, burying his face in Stiles’ neck and taking a deep breath.

Stiles rubs the corner of his jaw against Scott’s cheek and temple, needing to mix their scents again. Scott smells just slightly different under all the extra smells of the warehouse and the FBSI office. Stiles can’t tell if he likes the new scent or not. He’ll have to get Scott naked and washed up to be sure.

Then Stiles gets it. “You’re an alpha now.”

Scott gives a self-conscious half-shrug. “Yeah. Are you mad?”

“No!” Stiles insists quickly, tugging Scott back into a hug. “No, Ancestors alive, no, Scotty. I’m not mad.”

“We’re just, uh,” Dad says, breaking into the conversation. He looks back and forth between Scott and Talia and the FBSI agent behind her. “We’re just confused about how this happened.”

“There’s an explanation,” Talia says, taking a seat and waiting until the others sit down in the chairs facing hers. Stiles realizes that Talia must have been an alpha for a long time. She directs the wolves around her without words or even gestures. It’s a little scary, to be honest.

Stiles thinks Scott’s going to be an alpha like Talia. Maybe he’s biased (okay, he’s definitely biased), but Stiles can’t imagine Scott being a crappy alpha.

“Scott is,” Talia begins, giving Scott a small, proud smile, “a True Alpha.”

Stiles opens his mouth to ask what the hell _that_ is, but Talia shushes him with a tiny hand gesture.

“True Alphas are rare,” she continues, her voice steady, but with a lilt of good humor that Stiles appreciates. “We see one maybe once in a century or so.”

The question bubbles out before Stiles can stop himself. “So, you’re not one?”

“No,” Talia replies, the edges of her lips turning down as she looks at Stiles. If his father weren’t right there next to him, Stiles thinks he’d probably bare his neck to her right now in apology. “True Alphas don’t inherit their power, like I did, and they don’t steal it, either.”

This time, it’s Scott asking the question. “Then how did I become an Alpha?”

Talia doesn’t frown at _Scott_ , but Stiles can hardly imagine anyone (except that dour FBSI agent in the corner), frowning at Scott. Instead, she nods and says, “You became an Alpha by sheer force of righteous will.”

“Righteous will?” Scott says softly, looking down for a moment before his eyes go wide. He looks at Stiles, then Talia, then back to Stiles before saying, “The mountain ash barrier. I broke it.”

“Yes,” Talia says with a nod, before she stands. Stiles is up on his feet in an instant, as one does when an Alpha stands in their presence. Dad stands as well, out of respect, even though he’s an Alpha, too.

Scott stays sitting, which totally blows Stiles’ mind. Scott shouldn’t be able to stay sitting when his Alpha stands, but Scott’s an Alpha now. He’s his own Alpha.

Talia approaches Scott and puts her hand on his shoulder. “You broke a mountain ash barrier, because you wanted to protect innocent lives. When it comes to magic, will and intent mean so much more than physical strength.”

“Dude,” Stiles says as a thought occurs to him. “You’re going to be famous.”

Scott stands up as Talia backs away from him. “What? Why?”

“Like I said,” Talia explains, a twinkle in her eye. “True Alphas are rare. Everyone’s going to want to know you.”

“I don’t want that,” Scott says, this look of panic in his eyes. “I don’t want to be famous.”

Dad sighs and nods to the FBSI agent, who’s leaving the room while on his phone. “Son, I don’t think you have a choice.”

“I’ll help you,” Talia insists, “as will Derek and the WRO public relations team. Just because you’re an Alpha now doesn’t mean you’re not family. _Or pack_.”

Scott nods and lets out a long breath. Stiles can’t help but move closer to Scott and wind his hand in Scott’s to try to comfort him. On the one hand, Stiles wants to be totally compassionate and there for Scott and everything, but on the other, Stiles wants to excitedly freak out about that fact that _Stiles’_ freaking mate is a _True Alpha_. Scott’s going to be famous, which means Stiles is going to be famous!

Stiles is extra-glad he and Scott found each other at La Lune. There’s no way Stiles would land Scott _after_ he became a True Alpha. Stiles was surprised enough when Scott chose him _before_.

Stiles bumps his shoulder against Scott’s and says with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, Scotty. I’ll do interviews for you. I’ve been told I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, by me and no one else,” Scott says with a laugh, but he nudges Stiles’ shoulder back. “Thanks.”

Stiles knows for a fact that it’s impossible for him to do anything _but_ help Scott. Now that they’re mates, it’s something he and Scott will both have to get used to. And Stiles couldn’t be happier.

 

 

~*~

"And _this_ one," Stiles says, pulling a rectangular box from under the tree. It's covered in shiny red-and-green paper, with little white wolves wearing Santa hats. "Is for Scott."

Stiles hands the present to Scott and then sits down so close next to him on the floor that Scott thinks Stiles might as well have just sat in Scott's lap. Still, Scott's glad to have Stiles as close as possible. Their school terms both ended a few days ago (Scott passing easily, and Stiles just squeaking by), but Scott was reunited with his mate just the night before. This whole opening-presents-with-the-pack thing is fun and all, but Scott would rather be reacquainting himself with all of the moles on Stiles' skin.

As Scott accepts the present, he says, "Thanks," and gives Stiles a kiss on the cheek.

"Open it!" Stiles insists, and the rest of the pack chimes in as well, Malia nudging Scott with her toes from where she's sitting with Isaac.

"Alright." Scott tears away the paper and opens the box, which is filled with red tissue paper. He pulls that away and what's left is a white coat. A lab coat.

Furrowing his brows, because this present is completely unexpected, Scott lifts the labcoat out of the box. As it unfolds, he sees the embroidery on the breast of the coat and smiles. "Dr. Scott Stilinski," Scott reads out loud with a chuckle. "You know I'm still waiting to hear back from my top schools."

"Yeah, but you've already got a place held at Davis," Stiles says, wrapping his arm around Scott and resting his chin on Scott's shoulder. "You're going to be a doctor, babe."

"If the WRO doesn't get to him first," Melissa says, giving Derek a playful shove. "There's not going to be time for any interviews while Scott's in school. You're going to have to find a new poster boy."

Stiles throws his free arm wide and cries, "I keep telling them, I'll do it instead!"

Everyone laughs, and Scott smiles to himself. He knows how lucky he is to have the people in his life looking out for him. His mom, Stiles, Talia, even Derek when his fellow WRO members are pressing Scott to show up at some event or other. He knows that even if he is a True Alpha, that's not what he's about.

Scott's going to school. He's going to be a doctor, and he's going to help people. And apparently, he's going to take his mate's last name while he does it.

As the gift giving moves on to the others, Scott leans toward Stiles and holds up the lab coat. Softly, as if he isn't in a room full of werewolves, Scott asks, "Is this your way of asking me to marry you?"

Stiles replies with an open-mouthed grin and a wink.

Scott laughs, setting down the lab coat and pulling Stiles into a tight hug. It's answer enough for now. Scott will give Stiles his full answer later, when they're alone at Scott's place.

Of course, he's going to say yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to visit werefoxes' [masterpost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232616) and leave comments about the amazing art!


End file.
